POEMS 


POEMS 


BY  BRIAN   HOOKER 


YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
MDCCCCXV 


COPYRIGHT,  1915 
BY  YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


First  printed  March,  1915,  1,000  copies 


PUBLISHERS'.  NOTE 

The  author  desires  to  acknowledge  the  courtesy 
of  the  pubU'sbe/s  of  .The  Century  Magazine,  The  Fo 
rum,  Hampton's  Magazme,  Harper's-  Magazine,  Mc- 
Clure's  Magazine,  Scribner's  Magazine,  The  Smart 
Set,  The  Yale  Review  and  Yale  University  Glee  Club 
for  permission  to  reprint  here  such  poems  as  have 
already  appeared  in  their  pages. 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Lilacs  in  the  City 1 

Ballade  of  the  Dreamland  Rose       ....  4 

A  Situation 6 

A  Little  Person 9 

Oneiros 11 

A  Ballad  of  Sin 16 

Echoes 18 

Plus  Ultra 19 

Forsitan 20 

Womanhood 21 

Golden-Eyes 22 

Fragrances 24 

Everyman's  Epitaph 24 

Fools'  Wisdom    ........  25 

Ballade  of  Farewell 26 

The  White  Cat :  A  Fairy-poem       .        .        .        .  81 

SONNETS : 

Idolatry :  Three  Sonnets 67 

Andante 70 

A  Schoolgirl  Speaks 71 

Love  and  Pain:  Two  Sonnets     ....  72 


305214 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Ghosts 74, 

Haec  Olim  Meminisse  .  .  ."  .        .        .        .  75 

Somnambula 76 

From  Life 77 

A  Portrait        .                78 

Ars  Longa 79 

April  Noon 80 

For  the  Centenary  of  Samuel  Johnson  ...  88 

SONGS : 

A  Man-child's  Lullaby 89 

Amulets 90 

Song :  Dear,   though  you  wander  over  peace 

and  passion 91 

Mother  of  Men 92 

A  Man's  Song 93 

A  Woman's  Song 94 

A  Robin's  Song 95 

An  Old  Song 96 

Song :  The  skies  are  dimly  bright,  Love  .        .  97 

Song:  I  know  a  bower  sweet  and  shy       .        .  98 

Together 99 

Rosa  Mundi 100 

The  Moon-path 101 

Offerings 102 

Song:  Only  a  little  while  since  first  we  met  103 
[vi] 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Song:  The  clouds  are  drifting  drowsily    .        .104 
Absences 105 

Morven  and  the  Grail 109 

TURNS : 

Prelude 133 

When  the  Weary  Winter's  Gone        .        .        .133 

Miserere 134 

Sequel 134 

"Nunc  et  Latentis  .  .  ." 135 

Home-coming          .        .        .        .        .        .        .135 

Congratulations 136 

Weariness 136 

Reverie 137 

A  Character 137 

Umbra 138 

In  Passing 138 

Recall        .                        139 

The  Maker  of  Images 143 


[  mi  ] 


LILACS  IN  THE  CITY 

Amid  the  rush  and  fever  of  the  street, 

The  snarl  and  clash  of  countless  quarrelling  bells, 
And  the  sick,  heavy  heat, 

The  hissing  footsteps,  and  the  hateful  smells, 
I  found  you,  speaking  quietly 

Of  sunlit  hill-horizons  and  clean  earth; 

While  the  pale  multitude  that  may  not  dare 
To  pause  and  live  a  moment,  lest  they  die, 

Swarmed    onward    with    hot    eyes,    and    left    you 

there — 
An  armful  of  God's  glory,  nothing  worth. 

You  are  more  beautiful  than  I  can  know. 

Even  one  loving  you  might  gaze  an  hour 
Nor  learn  the  perfect  flow 

Of  line  and  tint  in  one  small,  purple  flower. 
There  are  no  two  of  you  the  same, 
And  every  one  is  wonderful  and  new — 

Poor  baby-blossoms  that  have  died  unblown, 

And  you  that  droop  yourselves  as  if  for  shame, 
You  too  are  perfect.     I  had  hardly  known 

The  grace  of  your  glad  sisters  but  for  you. 


POEMS 


You  myriad  of  little  litanies ! 

Not  as  our  bitter  piety,  subdued 
To  cold  creed  that  denies 

Or  lying  law  that  severs  glad  and  good ; 
But  like  a  child's  eyes,  after  sleep 

Uplifted;  like  a  girl's  first  wordless  prayer 

Close-held  by  him  who  loves  her — no  distress 
Nor  storm  of  supplication,  but  a  deep, 

Dear  heartache  of  such  utter  happiness 
As  only  utter  purity  can  bear. 

For  you  are  all  the  robin  feels  at  dawn; 

The  meaning  of  green  dimness,  and  calm  noons 
On  high  fields  far  withdrawn, 

Where  the  haze  glimmers  and  the  wild  bee  croons. 
You  are  the  soul  of  a  June  night: — 

Intimate  joy  of  moon-swept  vale  and  glade, 
Warm  fragrance  breathing  upward  from  the  ground, 

And  eager  winds  tremulous  with  sharp  delight 
Till  all  the  tense-tuned  gloom  thrills  like  a  sound — 

Mystery  of  sweet  passion  unafraid. 


LILACS  IN  THE  CITY 


O  sweet,  sweet,  sweet !    You  are  the  proof  of  all 

That  over-truth  our  dreams  have  memory  of 
That  day  cannot  recall: 

Work  without  weariness,  and  tearless  love, 
And  taintless  laughter.    While  we  run 
To  measure  dust,  and  sounding  names  are  hurled 

Into  the  nothingness  of  days  unborn, 
You  hold  your  little  hearts  up  to  the  sun, 

Quietly  beautiful  amid  our  scorn — 
God's  answer  to  the  wisdom  of  this  world. 


[3] 


BALLADE  OF  THE  DREAMLAND  ROSE 

Where  the  waves  of  burning  cloud  are  rolled 

On  the  further  shore  of  the  sunset  sea, 
In  a  land  of  wonder  that  none  behold, 

There  blooms  a  rose  on  the  Dreamland  Tree 
That  stands  in  the  Garden  of  Mystery 

Where  the  River  of  Slumber  softly  flows; 
And  whenever  a  dream  has  come  to  be, 

A  petal  falls  from  the  Dreamland  Rose. 

In  the  heart  of  the  tree,  on  a  branch  of  gold, 

A  silvern  bird  sings  endlessly 
A  mystic  song  that  is  ages  old, 

A  mournful  song  in  a  minor  key, 
Full  of  the  glamour  of  faery; 

And  whenever  a  dreamer's  ears  unclose 
To  the  sound  of  that  distant  melody, 

A  petal  falls  from  the  Dreamland  Rose. 


(4] 


BALLADE  OF  THE  DREAMLAND  ROSE 


Dreams  and  visions  in  hosts  untold 

Throng  around  on  the  moonlit  lea: 
Dreams  of  age  that  are  calm  and  cold, 

Dreams  of  youth  that  are  fair  and  free — 
Dark  with  a  lone  heart's  agony, 

Bright  with  a  hope  that  no  one  knows — 
And  whenever  a  dream  and  a  dream  agree, 

A  petal  falls  from  the  Dreamland  Rose. 

ENVOI 

Princess,  you  gaze  in  a  reverie 

Where  the  drowsy  firelight  redly  glows ; 
Slowly  you  raise  your  eyes  to  me.  .  .  . 

A  petal  falls  from  the  Dreamland  Rose. 


A  SITUATION 

Not  that  I  mean  to  make  trouble.  .  .  .  All  the  same, 
I  could  reach  him  so  easily,  easily — just  one  glance, 
One  word  sometimes,  to  awaken  the  whole  ro 
mance — 

It's  enough  to  tempt  a  Minerva  to  play  the  game  .  .  . 
And  she  so  careful  never  to  give  me  a  chance ! 

He's  a  younger  cousin,  or  some  relation  of  hers ; 

(She's  older  than  I)  and  the  two  are  really  friends, 
Equal,  intimate  comrades — and  there  it  ends: 

Never  a  thought  of  anything  better  or  worse, 

And    nearly    the    same    with    me,    but  .  .  .  that 
depends. 

No  one  I  want — just  a  big,  dear,  innocent  boy 
With  a  man's  blunt  will  and  elaborate  honesties, 
And  the  arms  and  back  of  a  man,  and  sweet  boy's 
eyes 

Easily   brightened   with   laughter   or   darkened   with 

joy- 
Inexperienced,  eager,  and  not  too  wise ! 

Nothing  to  rouse  me  deeply,  or  hold  me  long — 

I  have  buried  my  dead,  and  seen  my  share  of  men — 
But  the  wish  comes  back  upon  me  again  and  again 

To    awaken    the    man    in    the    boy,    and    find    him 

strong  .  .  . 
And  a  horrible  sick  little  shudder  now  and  then, 


A  SITUATION 

As  he  sits  with  his  hand  on  hers,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
Or  sprawls  on  the  floor  with  his  head  against  her 

knee 

Wholly  unconscious,  forgetting  the  He  and  She, 
Which  somehow,  nevertheless,  has  a  subtle  force 
When  their  wills  or  opinions  oppose  and  their  eyes 
agree. 

If  she  would  only  not  be  quite  so  motherly ! 
Patronizingly  watching  us  day  by  day — 
When  his  eyes  follow  on  as  I  move,  and  rest  where 
I  stay, 

Or  his  voice  drops  half  a  tone  below  the  brotherly — 
Off  goes  the  conversation  another  way ! 

As  if  she  said:     "  Come  look  at  my  lovely  flowers — 
Please  do  not  pluck  any;  I  never  do,  you  know, 
Only  I  like  to  plant  them  and  watch  them  grow".  .  . 

If  the  two  were  boy  and  girl  in  their  first  mad  hours, 
I  should  laugh,  and  help  them,  and  bless  them,  and 
let  them  go! 

And  yet  ...  What  a  foolish  waste  there  will  be  of 

beauty 

When  he  finds  the  one  conventional  child  for  him, 
(With  an  untaught  voice,   and  elbows   youthfully 

slim) 

Who  follows  him  stupidly  down  the  path  of  duty, 
So  blind  with  her  own  new  glory  that  his  grows 
dim! 

[7] 


POEMS 

To  make  him  take  me,  knowing  myself  the  first — 
I  who  could  measure  his  utmost  power  of  giving, 
I  who  could  prize  his  virginal  believing, 

I  who  have  learned  the  lore  of  the  best  and  worst  .  .  . 
Why,  it  would  make  the  life  I  have  lived  worth 
living ! 

Only — have  I  still  anything  left  to  spare? 
Well,  an  education  in  love,  to  the  last  degree, 
Is  cheap  at  the  price  of  a  shrivelled  vanity. 

I  at  least  ought  to  think  so — I've  had  my  share. 
Not   that   I    mean   to   make   trouble,   but  ...  we 
shall  see. 


A  LITTLE  PERSON 

Sunny  hair  and  eyes  of  wonder, 

Baby-lips  apart, 
Vivid  mother-breast,  whereunder 

Laughs  a  childish  heart — 
What  have  you  to  do  with  learning 

Wiser  bliss  or  woe? 
Take  our  gold;  the  cost  of  earning 

You  shall  never  know. 

You  shall  joy  as  for  another, 

Find  it  strange  to  weep, 
Play  at  being  wife  and  mother, 

Dream,  and  fall  asleep; 
All  we  toil  for,  all  we  doubt  of, 

All  we  yearn  to  see, 
All  our  hopes  have  sneered  us  out  of — 

You  shall  prove,  and  be. 

You  shall  purify  deceiving 

With  a  glad  disdain, 
Beautifully  unbelieving 

Meet  the  eyes  of  pain, 
Dance  through  hells  undreamed-of,  bringing 

Benefits  unguessed: 
Unto  shame,  a  sound  of  singing, 

Unto  passion,  rest. 

[9] 


POEMS 

Sunny  hair  and  eyes  of  wonder, 

Baby-lips  apart, 
Vivid  mother-breast,  whereunder 

Laughs  a  childish  heart, 
Soul  unsinful,  unforgiven, 

Voice  of  dawn  and  dew — 
God  one  morning,  glad  of  heaven, 

Laughed — and  that  was  you ! 


[10] 


ONEIROS 

Out  of  the  hush  and  darkness  of  deep  sleep 

Your  face  came  toward  me:  first  a  nebulous  gleam 

Like  some  dim  star  beheld  with  eyes  that  weep ; 

Then  wavering  nearer  in  a  misty  flame, 
As  the  moon  falters  up  through  some  dark  stream 

When  the  wind  moves  at  midnight.    With  you  came 
A  breath  of  music,  faint  and  far  away, 

And  light  and  music  somehow  seemed  the  same: 

The  one,  all  hope  that  longing  turns  to  fear; 
The  other,  all  men  dream  and  dare  not  say. 

Slowly  the  brightness  broadened,  and  drew  near, 
And  orbed  into  the  wonder  of  your  face; 

While  the  sound  swelled  and  echoed  trembling-clear — 

The  minor  dominant  of  a  wild  desire 
Beating  the  sullen  bars  of  time  and  space; 

And  with  your  coming,  ever  the  sound  rose  higher, 

Quivering  with  extremity  of  sweet, 
And  I  could  see  your  eyes ;  and  the  dim  fire 

That  framed  your  face  became  your  golden  hair 

Falling  in  streams  of  Summer  to  your  feet; 

[11] 


POEMS 

And  the  wild  melody  shook  earth  and  air, 

You  ever  drawing  closer,  till  at  last 
Music  and  brightness  grew  too  great  to  bear — 
Then  suddenly  the  yearning  cadence  caught 

The  chord  it  longed  for,  and  I  held  you  fast. 

Then   the   dream   changed.      Heavy   with   heat   and 

fraught 

With  sighs  of  slumbering  roses,  hung  the  gloom 
Over  us.     Little  breezes  passed,  and  caught 

Sweetness  from  bower  and  flower,  and  wandered 

on 

Through   murmuring  groves   and  beds   of  hidden 
bloom. 

Hard  by,  a  marble  palace  rose,  that  shone 
With  pearly  balconies  and  columns  tall 

Sprayed  into  arch  like  fountains  turned  to  stone; 

And  from  a  lower  window  deep-embayed 
Two  bars  of  yellow  light  shot  forth,  to  fall 

On  your  white  dress  and  shining  head,  and  made 
A  saint  of  you,  and  passed  unwillingly, 

Paling  to  amber  where  they  half  displayed 

Mysterious  gardens  darkling  down  to  meet 
The  starlit  laughter  of  the  distant  sea. 


ONEIROS 

Down  with  the  light  swept  the  swift-pulsing  beat 

Of  eager  music,  and  the  yellow  bars 
Were  shaken  and  shaded  as  the  flying  feet 

Of  dancers  crossed  the  light.     All  throbbed  in 

time — 
The  music,  and  our  hearts,  and  the  hot  stars. 

Woes  of  dead  lovers  in  an  ancient  rhyme, 

Deeds  of  dead  heroes  when  the  world  was  young, 

Strife  of  great  souls  that  vainly  strove  to  climb 

Steeps  of  sheer  joy  where  only  angels  tread — 
Ached  in  that  music,  finding  heart  and  tongue. 

And  the  old  childhood  feelings  I  thought  dead 
Came  back  upon  me,  seeming  strange  and  new: 

Love  of  I  knew  not  what,  and  causeless  dread, 

And  vague  desire;  all  old  things  passed  away 
Returned  fulfilled,  and  all  found  form  in  you. 

Under  a  huge  dim-towering  tree  I  lay, 
You  bending  over  me.     I  knew  my  sight 

Had  never  fallen  on  your  face  by  day — 

Yet  had  I  known  you  well,  and  sought  you  long, 
Loved  in  forgotten  dreams  for  many  a  night; 


[13] 


POEMS 

And  you  were  soft  and  dear,  like  an  old  song, 

And  strange  as   moonlit   clouds.     Love   strung  to 

pain 
Tightened  your  cheek,  and  made  your  breath  grow 

long 
And  your  lips   brighten.      Tears   were  in   your 

eyes, 
And  in  your  hair,  the  scent  of  Summer  rain. 

And  as  I  held  you  close,  we  seemed  to  rise 
And  float  away  over  the  waves  of  sound; 

And  all  things  but  ourselves  were  fantasies: 

Death  an  old  lie;  and  Life  an  empty  quest; 
And  Time  a  blind  mole  burrowing  underground. 

Then   our   eyes   drew   you   down.      Your   warm  lips 

pressed 

On  mine  with  eager  kisses :  all  the  dark 
Was  full  of  you:  through  your  quick-panting  breast 
I  felt  your  heart  slow  beating  against  my  own 
Like  the  heat-pulses  in  a  dying  spark — 

Then  the  dream  faded.     Like  a  petal  blown 

From   some   tall   flower,    you    floated   down — your 

whole 
Love  in  your  eyes,  and  your  white  arms  up-thrown — 

Blurred  to  a  hazy  glimmer  far  withdrawn, 
So  faint  I  only  seemed  to  see  your  soul, 


ONEIROS 

Faded,  and  flashed,  and  vanished.  .  .  .  And  the  dawn 
Burst  in  upon  me,  and  I  woke.    Yet  still 

Truth  seemed  a  shadow  of  the  dream  foregone; 

And  all  brave  hopes,  your  glamour  cast  before; 
And  all  good  thoughts,  the  echo  of  your  will. 

And  still  you  help  me.     Shall  we  meet  once  more, 

Out  of  the  hush  and  darkness  of  deep  sleep, 
In  the  day-world's  tempestuous  toil  and  war? 
And  if  I  find  you  .  .  .  will  you  ever  be 
As  the  warm  firelight  of  my  home  to  me, 
Or  some  dim  star  beheld  with  eyes  that  weep? 


[15] 


A  BALLAD  OF  SIN 

A  King  there  was,  both  good  and  great, 

That  was  lord  of  a  fair  country ; 
And  a  certain  man  within  his  realm 

Did  scorn  to  the  King's  majesty. 

For  he  paid  no  tribute  to  the  King, 

And  he  laughed  away  the  law  of  the  land, 

And  day  by  day  did  rob  and  slay 
By  craft  of  heart  or  might  of  hand. 

The  King  said:    "  He  hath  broke  my  law 

And  in  my  realm  done  evilly; 
Yet,  lest  some  need  have  driven  him, 

He  shall  have  gold  and  lands  in  fee." 

He  took  the  King's  good  lands  and  gold, 
And  squandered  all  in  foolish  wise; 

For  he  pledged  the  lands  and  spent  the  gold, 
On  courtesans  and  courtesies. 

The  King  said:    "  He  hath  lost  my  gifts, 
And  spent  my  goods  in  harlotry ; 

Yet  folly  may  be  force  unyoked — 
He  shall  have  men  to  fight  for  me." 

[16] 


A  BALLAD  OF  SIN 

He  took  the  soldiers  of  the  King, 
And  led  them  forth  to  burn  and  kill, 

And  ever  his  Lord's  own  banner  bore 
To  show  he  wrought  by  the  King's  will. 

The  King  said:    "  He  hath  shamed  my  crown, 
And  stained  my  name  with  villainy ; 

Yet  .  .  .  treason  is  but  want  of  faith — 
He  shall  have  eyes  that  he  may  see." 

The  man  rode  forth  one  summer  morn 

Across  a  black  and  barren  land, 
And  a  girl-child  stood  in  his  way 

Holding  a  white  rose  in  her  hand. 

The  child  laughed  up  in  the  man's  eyes, 
And  held  her  rose  for  him  to  take. 

He  smiled  a  stale  smile,  and  passed  by — 
She  wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Then  the  King  grieved,  saying:     "  Alas, 
That  my  realm  harbour  such  as  he ! 

There  is  no  more  that  I  may  give, 
For  now  he  hath  dishonoured  Me." 


ECHOES 

In  the  old  room,  when  May  is  ending, 
And  day  descending  in  the  West, 

Into  a  golden  stillness  blending 
My  memories  of  worst  and  best, 

Yesterday  clings  about  to-morrow, 
Flinging  a  charm  on  time  and  place, 

Till  calm  lights  and  pale  shadows  borrow 
Frail  outlines  of  your  vivid  face ; 

And  your  voice  calls  from  wall  and  rafter, 
Out  of  the  long- for  gotten  years — 

A  song  that  sorrow  follows  after, 
A  laughter  tremulous  with  tears. 


(18 


PLUS  ULTRA 

Love,  while  our  love  was  yet  unborn, 
And  your  lips,  doubting  you,  denied 
Gifts  that  should  make  you  glorified 

In  revelation  won  and  worn — 
Still  in  your  virgin  eyes  I  knew 
God's  promise  of  the  joy  of  you 
Beyond  your  anger  to  subdue, 

Your  maidenhood  to  hide. 

Now,  when  your  lips  have  granted  all 
Glory  that  may  be  dreamed  or  done 
Between  the  courses  of  the  sun, 

In  nature's  deep  confessional, — 
I  see,  where  wonder  underlies 
The  wisdom  of  your  wifely  eyes, 
Unmasterable  mysteries 

That  never  may  be  won. 


[19 


FORSITAN 

Labour  for  Love ;  thy  labour  shall  be  vain. 

Conquer  it;  God  shall  laugh,  and  feed  thee  dust. 

Deserve  it;  thou  shalt  clasp  a  broken  trust, 
Learning  a  wise  unfaith.     For  joy  or  pain 
Love  falleth  wantonly,  as  falls  the  rain 

Alike  upon  the  just  and  the  unjust. 

Take  all  unclean  that  lieth  to  thine  hand — 

There  is  no  shame  but  wherewith  Love  may  be. 
Be  pure — thou  fool,  what  shall  it  profit  thee? 
Thine  uttermost  endeavour  may  command 
Upon  the  shore  a  grain  the  less  of  sand, 
A  drop  the  more  of  water  in  the  sea. 

Because  the  heart  of  Love  is  hidden  higher 
Than  ever  poet  sang  or  prophet  saw, 
Beyond  all  dream  of  glory  and  of  awe, — 
The  very  holiness  of  thy  desire 
Shall  blind  thee  to  the  gold  within  the  fire, 

And  hold  thee  from  the  best.     This  is  the  law. 

Therefore  deserve;  give  wholly;  do  no  ill; 
Labour,  and  overcome.     So  the  one  kiss 
May  overflow  a  greater  soul  with  bliss 
More  curiously  sought ;  or,  if  Chance  will 
Thou  shalt,  remembering  old  beauty,  still 
Worthily  suffer,  knowing  what  Love  is. 


WOMANHOOD 

Love  to  a  lady  said  that  kneeled  before  him, 

Fain  of  his  light  and  of  his  glory  fain: 
"  Who  ask  of  Love  must  manifold  restore  him 
For  little  joy,  long  pain." 

Swiftly  she  answered:    "  Lord,  put  forth  thy  power." 

(O,  and  the  wonder  of  her  lips  and  eyes !) 
"  Let  me  know  all.     So  I  but  have  mine  hour, 
What  matter  for  the  price?" 

Love  laughed,  and  blessed  her,  saying:     "  The  full 

measure 

Of  all  my  sweet  I  give  thee  utterly; 
And  in  thy  pain  a  joy  beyond  all  pleasure, 
Seeing  it  comes  of  me." 


GOLDEN-EYES 

Strange,  that  the  thing  I  am  should  know 

The  fulness  and  the  perfect  flower 
Of  that  old  self,  long  lives  ago !  ... 

— It  must  be,  when  the  flesh  has  died, 
The  soul  turns  sunward  a  new  side, 
And  old  lights  darken.     So  that  hour 

By  its  own  soul-fire  glimmers  through — 
I  wrought  such  glory  out  of  you 
As  death  was  frail  to  overpower! 

I  was  just  entering  the  hall 

To  greet  my  captive.  .  .  .  All  before 
Blurs  into  gloom  beyond  recall — 
Until  I  see  you  standing  there, 
The  slant  light  maddened  in  your  hair, 
And  in  your  eyes  no  fear.     Once  more 
I  breathe  deep,  hear  my  scabbard  ring 
On  the  brown  stones,  and  feel  the  sting 
Of  the  salt  breeze  through  the  high  door. 

I  claimed  you  mine.     You  railed,  and  scoffed. 
— Your  lover  must  be  near  at  last — 

And  all  the  while,  I  thought  how  soft 

That  grand  white  breast  of  yours  would  feel 
Close-crushed  against  my  linked  steel.  .  .  . 


GOLDEN-EYES 

You  laughed.    A  sudden  passion-blast 
Shook  all  my  blood  into  one  fire, 
And  in  a  glory  of  desire 

I  caught  at  you,  and  held  you  fast. 

Under  my  kisses  and  my  strength 

You  raved.     Almost  I  feared  you,  when 
You  tried  to  blind  me.    Then,  at  length, 
You  changed:  the  hero-mother  rose 
Into  your  golden  eyes;  close,  close 
You  held  me,  kissed  me  once — and  then 
Folk  shouted,  and  a  trumpet  blew 
Loudly.     I  reeled  forth,  drunk  with  you, 
To  struggle  in  the  press  of  men. 

They  must  have  slain  me  in  that  fight. 
There  was  a  ship  with  a  high  prow, 
And  a  man's  face,  foam-lipped  and  white.  .  . 
Then  the  veil  falls,  and  leaves  me — here; 
Worthless,  with  none  to  hold  me  dear, 
No  quiet  hand  upon  my  brow — 
I  am  but  half  a  man  alone !  .  .   . 
And  you,  that  once  were  all  my  own, 
Ah,  Golden-Eyes,  where  are  you  now  ? 


FRAGRANCES 

When  you  pass  by  me  swiftly, 

For  a  moment  all  the  air 
Thrills  with  the  breath  of  your  passing 

And  the  summer  of  your  hair. 

So,  in  the  dark  and  the  distance, 
There  comes  between  sigh  and  sigh 

A  breeze  and  a  breath  of  beauty, 
As  the  thought  of  you  drifts  by. 


EVERYMAN'S  EPITAPH 

Listen:     I  knew  in  life  and  breath 

Your  darkest  void,  your  purest  flame; 

For  I  have  loved,  and  smiled  at  death, 
And  I  have  feared,  alone  with  shame. 

Therefore  this  word  I  leave  with  you 
Who  flush  and  faint  as  I  have  done : 

Doubt  not  that  all  good  things  are  true, 
And  the  world  fair  to  live  upon. 


FOOLS'  WISDOM 

You  thought  you  loved  me,  Dear — until  you  read 
In  me  what  Love  was ;  then  That  Other  came 

Who  won  your  knowledge.     So  your  dream  was  dead, 
And  my  reality  was  put  to  shame. 

It  is  a  bitter  thing  to  have  no  worth, 

To  pour  oneself  out  utterly,  in  vain; 
But — these  things  are  of  earth,  and  turn  to  earth: 

The  lamp  of  pleasure  and  the  shade  of  pain. 

"  Be  wise  and  manly;  leave  such  thoughts  alone." 
The  wise  ones  of  this  world  laugh  Love  away, 

Criticise  God,  and  play  with  bits  of  stone — 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  as  wise  as  they; 

Only  to  love  you  perfectly,  and  wait, 
Nor  stain  with  any  doubt  our  joy  to  be. 

Never  is  but  to-morrow.    When  we  mate, 
Dear,  we  shall  still  have  all  eternity. 


BALLADE  OF  FAREWELL 

New  roads  to  fare,  new  toils  to  overthrow, 
New  fields,  made  rich  with  fern  and  floweret, 

And  beckoning  seas  where  brave  winds  merrily  blow 
Over  the  sun-bright  waves  of  dawn — and  yet, 
Never  one  sun  rose  but  another  set.   .   .  . 

Wherefore,  beseech  you,  count  me  not  as  they 

Who  shun  the  venture  and  avoid  the  fray, 

Though  I  should  pause  within  the  empty  hall, 

By  the  old  hearth  bow  down  to  dream  and  pray, 
And  bid  at  last  a  long  farewell  to  all. 

Dim  elms  deepen  the  summer  gloom  below, 
Tangling  the  drowsy  breeze  in  a  soft  net 

Of  slowly  waving  leaves ;  an  amber  glow 
Streams  out  of  many  windows,  over  wet 
Green  grass,  gray  tower,  and  vine-hung  parapet; 

And  careless  gusts  of  song  start  up,  and  stray 

Among  the  shadows ;  the  city's  distant  bray 
Softens;  and  happy  voices  clash  and  call 

One  to  another,  as  I  turn  away, 

And  bid  at  last  a  long  farewell  to  all. 


BALLADE  OF  FAREWELL 


Youth;  and  high  hearts  welcoming  friend  and  foe, 
Careless  of  fear  or  failure;  the  clear  jet 

And  rainbow-spray  of  joyance;  and  the  flow 
Of  easy  slumber  to  a  morning  met 
Blithely,  fresh-eyed;  madrigal,  canzonet, 

Drink  with  glad  boys  and  dance  with  maidens  gay, 

Scorn  of  such  laws  as  weaker  souls  obey — 

Carouse,  adventure,  dalliance,  tryst,  and  brawl — 

Must  we  disown  the  sweetness  of  their  sway, 
And  bid  at  last  a  long  farewell  to  all? 

These  things  are  ebbing  from  us:  and  although 

It  is  more  wise  to  frolic  than  to  fret, 
Good  to  strew  garlands  on  the  grave  of  woe, 

Good  to  drink  deep  of  laughter,  and  forget 

Weariness,  and  chill  twilights,  and  the  debt 
Inexorable  that  even  we  must  pay 
Who  in  the  House  of  Life  rejoice  to  stay — 

Nevertheless,  we  find  the  banquets  pall, 
See  the  leaves  wither,  and  the  lights  turn  gray, 

And  bid  at  last  a  long  farewell  to  all. 


[27 


POEMS 


Wherefore,  with  half  my  days  foregone,  I  go 

Now  to  begin  true  labour.     I  regret 
Only  the  song  unborn,  the  unbent  bow 

Whose  quarry  leaps  unscathed.     Nor  dare  I  let 

My  heart  shrink  from  the  turmoil  and  the  sweat; 
For  even  already  have  I  seen  decay 
The  glamour  and  dew-freshness  of  the  May, 

And  felt  a  weary  body  faint  and  fall, 
Remembering  how  I  must  fear  delay, 

And  bid  at  last  a  long  farewell  to  all. 

ENVOI 

Princes  of  Mirth!     Let  no  power  disarray 
The  pageants  and  fair  trappings  of  our  play, 

Until  we  turn  our  faces  to  the  wall, 
Smile  down  the  glimmering  slopes  of  yesterday, 

And  bid  at  last  a  long  farewell  to  all. 

New  Haven,  1909. 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

There  was  a  King's  Son,  once  upon  a  time, 
Dwelling  in  a  fair  country,  far  away 
Even  on  the  other  side  of  Fairyland, 
Beyond  the  mountains  and  the  sea.     Through  all 
His  young  life,  he  had  never  sought  in  vain, 
But  what  he  asked  was  given ;  yet  none  the  less 
The  King's  Son  was  not  happy.     Day  by  day, 
The  King  his  father,  that  had  been  himself 
A  king's  son,  gave  him  horse  and  hawk  and  hound, 
And  taught  him  to  ride  straight  and  keep  his  spear 
Sharp,  and  his  armour  shining,  to  be  strong 
In  war,  and  swift  upon  the  hunt,  and  wise 
In  judgment,  honouring  the  law.    The  Queen 
His  mother,  that  had  been  a  princess,  gave  him 
Silks  and  gems,  a  warm  hearth  and  a  soft  bed, 
A  table  rich  with  spices  and  old  wine, 
Red  gold  and  ready  servants;  and  taught  him  how 
To  speak  fair,  understanding  women's  eyes, 
And  sing  sweet  songs,  charming  the  hearts  of  men, 
And  be  a  prince  in  all.     And  his  old  nurse, 
That  once  had  been  a  fairy  in  her  youth — 
A  brown  and  twisted  witch  like  a  dead  tree — 
Gave  him  a  great  white  cat,  that  all  day  long 
Drowsed  in  the  sun  or  dozed  before  the  fire, 
With  emerald  eyes  half  shut,  and  paws  turned  in, 

[31] 


POEMS 

Nor  ever  purred  nor  rubbed  against  his  knee — 
But  when  the  King's  Son  called  her  beautiful, 
Yawned,  and  looked  elsewhere.     And  she  told  him 

tales 

Of  elves  and  giants,  wizards,  trolls,  and  gnomes, 
And  sleepless  dragons,  breathing  flame,  that  kept 
Watch  over  hidden  gold,  and  spellbound  kings, 
And  lone  princesses  in  enchanted  towers — 
Wonderful  stories  out  of  Fairyland, 
With  all  the  sorry  parts  left  out  of  them. 
And  yet  the  King's  Son  was  not  happy.    True, 
He  sang  and  laughed,  rode  merrily  to  the  hunt, 
And  sat  in  council  proudly.     Yet  he  lacked 
In  all  these,  what  should  prove  a  use  for  all — 
A  cause  for  fight,  a  dream  behind  the  song — 
And  having  all  things,  wanted — Everything. 

Now,  it  befell  that  while  the  King's  Son  slept 
One  sweet  midsummer  midnight  in  the  gloom 
Of  his  high  chamber,  the  White  Cat,  that  crawled 
Mousing  amid  the  shadows,  touched  his  hand 
In  passing,  and  at  the  touch  the  King's  Son  sighed 
And  stirred,  opening  his  eyes.     The  moonlight  fell 
Through  leaves  that  breathed  about  his  window,  and 

lay 

In  two  broad  bars  athwart  the  chamber  floor; 
And  between  sleep  and  waking  he  beheld 
A  milk-white  Princess  out  of  Fairyland 
Dancing  under  the  moonbeams,  glad  as  youth, 

[M] 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

Beautiful  as  the  memory  of  a  dream, 
And  sweet  as  hope.     Her  eyes  were  like  the  dawn; 
Her  hair  was  like  the  twilight;  and  she  moved 
Like  music  over  water.    And  the  King's  Son 
Looking  upon  her,  felt  his  whole  heart  break 
For  wonder  and  great  love.     Then  suddenly, 
Ere  he  could  move  or  speak,  a  shadow  crossed 
The  light,  and  a  breeze  brushed  the  leaves,  and  blew 
Balm  from  the  drowsy  gardens,  and  passed  by; 
And  the  Prince,  gazing  where  his  joy  had  been, 
Saw  only  emptiness.     And  while  he  watched, 
Forth  from  the  shadow  stole  the  great  White  Cat, 
And  yawned,  stretching  her  claws  out  one  by  one, 
And  shook  her  ears,  and  turned,  and  walked  away 
Waving  her  plumy  tail  aloft  in  air. 

But  on  the  morrow,  the  Prince  came  before 
His  father  and  his  mother,  saying: 

"Now 

That  I  am  one-and-twenty,  and  a  man, 
It  is  full  time  I  proved  your  gifts  to  me 
Upon  some  high  endeavour;  for  I  live 
As  a  fat  hawk  here,  or  a  pampered  hound, 
Doing  all  things  with  cause  for  doing  none, 
Useless.     But  last  night,  waking  suddenly 
And  wavering  on  the  brink  of  sleep,  I  saw 
Where  the  broad  moonbeams  fell  from  wall  to  wall, 
A  milk-white  Fairy  Princess  dancing  there, 
Beautiful  as  the  memory  of  a  dream, 

[S3] 


POEMS 

And  sweet  as  hope.     Her  eyes  were  like  the  dawn; 
Her  hair  was  like  the  twilight;  and  she  moved 
Like  music  over  water.     And  I  knew, 
Gazing  upon  her,  that  my  life  was  hers. 
And  I  shall  follow  her  to  Fairyland 
And  find  her,  and  possess  her,  or  I  die." 

And  the  King  answered: 

"  This  is  but  a  dream, 

Such  as  young  blood  dreams  in  the  summer.     Nay, 
By  thine  own  speech  I  know  it  for  a  dream — 
Moon-maidens  dancing !     Use  and  uselessness  ! — 
Bide  here  till  harvest,  when  our  foemen  spring 
Out  of  the  south,  ten  thousand  spears :  that  war 
Shall  find  thee  use  enow.     Nevertheless, 
If  thou  must  ride  a-dreaming,  take  my  sword. 
I  won  my  kingdom  with  it  years  ago, 
But  it  shall  never  win  thee  thy  desire." 

And  the  Queen  cried,  clutching  her  mother-heart 
With  one  white  hand: 

"  Child,  there  has  fallen  a  spell 
Upon  thee.     Thou  hast  slept  under  the  moon, 
And  that  breeds  madness.     Bide  thou  here,  and  let 
Wise  doctors  wash  this  vapour  from  thy  brain. 
Are  there  no  maids  in  our  own  country?     Still, 
If  thou  must  go  a-maying,  take  my  harp — 
I  won  my  treasure  with  it,  years  ago, 
Yet  it  shall  never  charm  thee  to  thy  dream." 

[S4] 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

Lastly  the  old  Nurse  drew  from  out  her  breast 
A  dingy  mirror,  cracked  and  stained,  set  round 
With  dull  gold  and  dim  gems,  muttering: 

"Take  this; 

For  they  who  seek  in  vain  through  Fairyland 
Their  hearts'  desire,  perish.     Do  I  not  know? 
I  was  dead  once,  and  saw  my  life  therein — 
Yet  ...  it  shall  never  show  thee  thine  own  face." 

But   the    King's    Son,    scarce    heeding   their    dark 

speech 

For  the  light  of  his  dream  within  him,  took  the  gifts, 
And  called  for  horse  and  arms,  and  rode  away 
Singing,  across  the  sunshine.     And  the  White  Cat 
That  drowsed  on  the  warm  stones  beside  the  door, 
Twisting  her  lazy  body  in  the  sun, 
Rose  up,  and  ran  before  him  upon  his  way, 
And  would  not  stay  behind,  nor  be  denied. 


So  the  King's  Son  rode  forth,  following  his  dream 
Over  bright  meadows  merry  with  flower  and  bee, 
And  through  cool  woods  holy  with  moss  and  fern, 
Even  to  the  utmost  borders  of  the  world, 
Beyond  the  mountains  and  the  sea.     And  still 
The  White  Cat  went  before,  nor  ever  turned 
To  look  on  him,  nor  paused,  nor  gave  a  sign 
Of  watching  that  he  followed,  but  went  on 
As  one  that  fared  alone  at  her  own  will, 

[35] 


POEMS 

And  pointed  out  bis  way.     But  when  they  came 

To  the  huge  wall  of  gold  that  guards  the  bounds 

Of  Fairyland,  its  glimmering  length  flung  far 

From  dawn  to  sundown,  and  the  gates  aflame 

With  amethyst  and  opal,  whereupon 

Is  written  in  a  tongue  old  as  the  world: 

"  Who  enters  here  must  seek  his  heart's  desire  " — 

And  overhead,  hung  by  a  single  hair, 

A    great    sword    shines    and    swings,    trembling — she 

stayed ; 

And  would  not  pass  there  till  he  went  before, 
Then  followed.     And  the  King's  Son,  entering,  rode 
Through  a  glad  country  bright  with  sun,  and  fair 
With  blossoms  that  before  his  charger's  feet 
Sprang  up,  and  shed  their  fragrance,  and  fell  down 
Fading  behind  him;  and  the  low  skies  burned 
Purple  and  rose  and  saffron,  as  if  the  dawn 
Lingered  and  flushed  the  noonday;  and  the  trees 
Reached  forth  green  arms  to  him,  and  brushed  his 

cheek 

Like  soft  hands ;  and  the  breeze  behind  him  shook 
With  whispers,  and  in  front  through  the  warm  green, 
White  breasts  flashed,  and  dark  eyes  glanced,  and  a 

sound 

Of  girlish  laughter  fled  from  tree  to  tree; 
And  the  sweet  air  sang  in  his  blood  like  wine. 
And  the  King's  Son,  riding,  unslung  his  harp, 
And  sang  across  the  summer  and  the  sun: 


[36 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

"  Youth  rides  forth  to-day! 

Lads  of  mettle  rare, 

Ladies  debonair — 
Will  ye  say  him  nay? 
Joy  shall  dance  and  play, 

Love  shall  clasp  and  cling, 
Through  the  glad  array 

Of  his  following. 

"  Over  earth  and  air 

Flows  the  fire  of  spring, 

Filling  everything, 
Thrilling  everywhere; 
Shall  a  world  so  fair, 

Calling,  be  denied? 
Bid  him  dare  to  dare — 

Bid  him  mount  and  ride! 

"  Round  him  in  a  ring 

Gather  glorified — 

Every  maid  a  bride, 
Every  man  a  king — 
Wreaths  and  roses  fling 

Down  his  conquering  way; 
Laugh  and  kiss  and  sing — 

Youth  rides  forth  to-day!" 


[37 


POEMS 

And  as  the  song  closed,  all  around  broke  out 

A  clapping  of  tiny  hands,  and  all  the  air 

Filled  with  soft  cries  of  pleasure ;  and  he  felt 

About  his  neck  the  clasp  of  invisible  arms, 

And  touch  of  bodiless  lips  upon  his  own; 

And   shimmering  winds   flashed  by,   and  caught  his 

cloak 

And  tugged  his  bridle.    Only  the  White  Cat 
Beside  his  stirrup  paid  no  heed,  but  yawned, 
Curving  her  pink  tongue,  and  looked  elsewhere.    Then, 
Far  off  a  solitary  trumpet  rang 
From  that  which,  glittering  on  the  distant  hills, 
Blazed  like  a  lesser  sun.     Whither  the  Prince, 
Following  his  viewless  guides  across  the  plain 
Deep-spread  with  bloomy  fragrance,  was  aware 
Of  a  tall  castle  all  of  glittering  glass, 
Whose  towers  the  clouds  encrimsoned,  and  whose  base 
The  earth  tinged  living  green;  and  its  whole  breadth 
Brake  diamond-like  into  a  myriad  lights 
Of  wall  and  buttress,  porch  and  parapet, 
Cornice  and  battlement  and  balcony, 
And  clustered  columns  branching  into  arch 
Like  frozen  spray ;  and  the  slant  lights,  and  lines 
Tangled,  and  the  clear  substance  of  it  all, 
So  mazed  his  vision  that  he  rode  half  blind 
Before  the  glare  thereof,  nor  might  discern 
The  outer  from  the  inner.     But  he  saw, 
High  on  a  fretted  balcony  that  hung 
In  one  broad  band  of  fire  from  tower  to  tower, 

[38] 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

A  pearl-white  Princess  crowned  with  gold,  and  robed 
In  purple.    And  her  eyes  were  like  the  day ; 
Her  hair  was  like  the  summer ;  and  she  moved 
Like  sunshine  on  the  sea.     And  leaning  down, 
She  stretched  her  arms  toward  him,  and  cried  his 

name, 
Saying: 

"  I  weary  of  the  brightness  here. 
Come." 

And  with  that,  the  King's  Son  gave  one  cry, 
Recognizing  the  vision  of  his  dream, 
And  spurred  his  charger  to  the  gate,  and  seized 
The  golden  horn  that  hung  there,  and  breathed  deep, 
Then  blew. 

Slowly  the  drawbridge  creaked  and  swung, 
Descending;  the  portcullis  rose;  the  gates 
Opened,  and  down  that  shining  pathway  strode 
A  monstrous  giant,  all  in  golden  arms, 
Demanding  what  he  sought;  whereto  the  Prince: 

"  Do  battle  for  the  Princess  prisoned  there." 
So  the  twain  rushed  together,  while  above, 
The  Princess  on  her  balcony  laughed  loud, 
And  called,  cheering  them  on;  and  the  White  Cat, 
That  in  the  midmost  branches  of  an  elm 
Clung  bristling,  like  a  ball  of  thistledown, 
Hissed  angrily.    And  the  Giant  heaved  on  high 
His  mace,  and  at  the  first  stroke,  stooping,  swung 
Against  the  charger's  feet,  and  swept  him  down 

[39] 


POEMS 

Sidelong  beneath  his  rider,  as  the  scythe 
Topples  the  standing  corn.     But  the  King's  Son 
Leaped  clear,  and  found  foothold,  and  sprang  within 
The  swing  of  the  huge  mace  upon  him;  and  then, 
Mindful  at  once  of  many  a  fairy  tale — 
How  giants  all  are  weakliest  at  the  knee — 
And  gathering  his  whole  might  into  one  stroke, 
Stabbed.     And  the  Giant  roared  aloud,  and  swung 
Tottering  a  moment,  then  clanged  down.     His  shield 
Boomed  like  a  gong,  and  the  ground  under  him 
Rang  hollow,  smitten  by  his  golden  arms, 
As  though  the  earth  were  golden;  and  the  sound 
Rolled  bellowing  from  beneath,  and  jarred  afar 
In  subterranean  thunder,  and  rumbled  away 
Beyond  the  horizon.     So  the  Giant  fell, 
And  heaved  and  groaned  a  moment,  and  lay  still. 

And  the  King's  Son,  amazed  to  have  won  the  quest 
So  easily,  dizzy  with  joy,  and  strong 
In  the  surety  of  his  triumph,  turned,  and  strode 
Over  the  drawbridge,  through  the  fiery  arch 
Of  those  high  gates,  and  crossed  the  echoing  hall, 
And  climbed  the  glassy  stairway,  where  his  dream 
Waited  him.     And  he  knelt  before  her  feet. 
And  kissed  her  hand,  murmuring: 

"  Lo,   I   have   come, 
Having  seen  thee  and  sought  thee.     Therefore  follow 

me 
Home  to  my  father's  kingdom." 

140] 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY -POEM 

And  she  said, 
Smiling  into  his  eyes : 

"Wherefore?" 

She  seemed 

Rosier  than  he  had  seen  her  in  his  dream, 
And  sturdier.     Nevertheless  his  whole  heart  burned 
For  rapture  of  her,  and  he  rose,  and  flung 
His  arms  out,  saying: 

"  I  have  fought,  and  slain 
The  Giant." 

And  she  laughed,  answering: 

"What  then? 
He  is  my  Giant." 

And  at  that,  the  Prince, 

Empty  of  words  and  sick  with  a  strange  fear, 
Stood  wavering,  while  the  fabric  of  his  dream 
Dissolved  around  him.    At  the  last,  he  said 
Foolishly,  hating  the  sound  of  his  own  speech: 

"  It  is  not  so  in  any  fairy  tale." 
But  while  he  spoke,  the  White  Cat  from  beneath 
Cried  warning;  and  he  turned,  and  looking  down 
Through  glassy  walls  and  floors,  suddenly  beheld 
The  fallen  Giant  spring  up,  and  rush  within ; 
Arid  the  halls  resounded  with  him,  ere  he  came 
Upon  them,  howling  with  laughter,  and  upswung 
His  massy  mace,  and  with  one  huge  blow  shattered 
The  King's  sword,  and  crushed  down  the  King's  Son. 

[41}  / 


POEMS 

Then 

The  Princess  and  the  Giant  lifted  him, 
And  spoiled  him  of  his  arms,  and  bound  him  fast 
With  golden  chains,  and  prisoned  him  far  down 
In  a  dim  dungeon  underneath  the  moat, 
As  far  below  the  green  earth  as  from  thence 
Even  to  the  pinnacle  of  the  tallest  tower; 
And  there,  barren  of  sense  and  strength,  he  lay. 


All  day  the  White  Cat,  wandering  forlorn 
Around  the  enchanted  castle,  sought  in  vain 
Her  master;  for  her  eyes,  fitted  for  gloom 
Where  men's  eyes  fail  them,  shrank  from  sun,  and 

where 

The  glassy  fortress  reared  its  glittering  height, 
Saw  neither  wall  nor  tower  nor  any  form 
Nor  substance :  only  a  blind  golden  glare 
Unbearable.     But  when  the  sun  sank  down 
And  the  lights  paled,  rising,  and  rosily 
Flushed,  lingering  on  the  battlements,  and  night 
Fell,  she  crept  forward  very  carefully 
To  the  moat's  edge,  and  looking  downward,  saw 
Through  fathoms  of  wan  water  and  clear  glass 
Where  he  lay,  chained  and  prisoned.     At  that  sight, 
She  raised  a  dolorous  cry,  and  would  have  gone 
To  him,  but  shrank  back  frighted  at  the  touch 
Of  the  chill  water.     And  the  King's  Son  heard 
Her  wailing  through  his  swoon,  and  seemed  to  hear 

[4*1 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

The  Princess  crying  to  him  for  help;  and  so 
Waking,  looked  up  through  glassy  wall  and  floor 
To  a  bright  banquet  chamber,  where  the  twain, 
Crowned  with  red  gold  and  garlanded  with  flowers, 
Feasted,  Princess  and  Giant,  laughing  wild 
And  sporting  amorously;  and  his  own  arms 
Hung  with  a  hundred  others  on  the  wall: 
Whereto  they  raised   their   cups,   and  pledged   each 

other, 

Embracing,  and  drank  deep.     Thereupon  the  Prince, 
Feeling  his  whole  strength  beaten  back  on  him 
In  one  dry  gust  of  agony,  sprang,  and  brake 
The  chains  whose  links  fell,  tinkling  goldenly 
Like  small  bells ;  and  he  leaped  upward,  and  swam 
Through  glassy  walls  and  floors  as  a  diver  climbs 
Through  water,  labouring,  and  won  forth,  and  fled 
Headlong,  dishonoured  and  disarmed,  his  sword 
Gone,  and  his  charger  slain,  and  his  dead  dream 
Festering  within  him.     Only  his  harp  remained, 
And  the  dull  mirror  at  his  girdle  hung, 
And  the  White  Cat,  following  him  silently, 
Whereof  he  noted  nothing,  but  rushed  on 
Through  glooms  odorous  with  drowsy  blossoms,  whose 

breath 

Seemed  like  her  hair,  and  winds  that  cooled  his  brow 
Like  her  hands,  and  still  lights  that  shone  afar 
Most  like  her  eyes  whom  he  had  found  in  vain, 
The  Princess;  and  her  face  was  everywhere 
Before  him,  beautiful  with  joy,  and  warm 

[48] 


POEMS 

With  tenderness;  and  ever  by  her  side 

The  golden  Giant  grinned,  and  pawed  her  hair 

And  pinched  her  cheek,  while  she  laughed  up,  and  lay 

Surrendering.     And  the  burden  of  that  sight 

So  bore  upon  him  that  he  took  no  heed 

Of  place  or  way  or  distance,  but  plunged  on 

Through  the  void  night  beset  with  evil  dreams, 

Hopeless,  across  the  immeasurable  plain. 


But  when  the  dawn  came,  and  a  cold  light  spread 
Over  the  hills  behind  them,  the  King's  Son 
Paused  on  a  westering  rise,  looking  behind 
Across  the  levels  toward  the  light ;  and  where 
The  glassy  keep  had  reared  its  glittering  towers, 
Saw  only  emptiness  and  wavy  lines 
Against  the  sunrise,  like  the  air  that  swims 
Above  a  flame,  or  formless  glints  that  fleck 
The  edges  of  a  crystal.     All  between 
Lay  the  broad  valley  veiled  in  shimmering  mist 
From  hill  to  hill.     And  the  keen  wind  blew  clear 
The  meshes  of  his  mind,  and  night  and  shame, 
Battle,  Giant  and  Princess,  and  all  else 
Bitterly  remembered,  for  a  moment  seemed 
A  nightmare  whence  awake  he  felt  no  more, 
Wondering  to  find  himself  so  free  from  pain 
And  breathing  deep  of  rest.     Then,  seeing  himself 
Horseless  and  swordless  and  unarmed,  the  weight 
Of  his  remembered  sorrow  fell  again, 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY -POEM 

Yet  lightlier ;  for  that  clear  breath  left  him  still 
Doubting;    and   with   that   thought,    the    shimmering 

mist 

That  brimmed  the  valley  overflowed,  and  rose 
Over  him;  and  he  turned  and  went  on,  folded 
Fathoms  deep  in  a  cool  cloud,  overhead 
Faint-flushed  with  sunrise,  and  beneath  tinged  wan 
By  the  green  earth,  and  whitening  all  around 
So  that  he  seemed  buried  in  a  huge  pearl 
Wherethrough  all  things  loomed  formless,  rock  and 

tree 

Shadows,  himself  a  shadow,  and  the  White  Cat 
A  shadow  upon  a  shadow.     So  he  fared 
Sightless  for  many  days,  knowing  not  where 
Nor  whither,  save  that  the  ground  swelled  in  hills 
And  sank  in  hollows,  growing  hour  by  hour 
Rough  travelling,  yet  it  seemed  the  general  trend 
Led  upward.    And  the  whiteness  all  the  while 
Wavered  with  wreathy  shapes  that  fled  before 
Or  brushed  beside  him,  or  above  leaned  down 
Whispering,  and  plucked  his  sleeve  and  pressed  him 

on, 

Bringing  with  them  a  momentary  breath 
Of  bloom  or  blush  of  colour.     Yet  he  took 
Small  heed  of  them  for  the  increasing  toil 
Of  journey,  and  the  trouble  of  his  brain 
Unravelling  all  his  deeds:  he  should  have  stayed 
And  stabbed  the  fallen  Giant;  or  escaped 
Battle,  and  seeking  entrance  by  some  wile, 

[45} 


POEMS 

Have  slain  him  sleeping;  or  in  that  last  bout 

Fought  harder,,  and  prevailed;  or  at  the  end 

Fallen  upon  them  ere  he  fled,,  and  slain 

Both,,  or  himself  have  perished;  or  perchance 

If  he  had  done  some  evil  on  the  way, 

Or  broke  some  law  of  Faery,  whence  himself 

Was  cursed,  and  his  quest  barren;  and  in  all 

Lurked  the  arch-doubt,  whether  in  very  truth 

The  princess  were  his  Princess  even  so, 

Or  whether  having  seen  her  in  vision  at  first 

Gave  him  true  right  to  seek  and  win  her.     So 

He   toiled   through   clouds,    following   the   land,   nor 

cared 

Whither  nor  wherefore.    And  the  White  Cat  ran 
A  white  shadow  beside  him,  making  no  sign 
Of  service,  but  went  forward  silently 
As  one  that  fared  by  her  own  will. 

At  length, 

Clambering  a  rocky  slope  interminable,, 
He   reached   the   height,   and   paused,   and   standing 

there 

Fronted  a  firm  wind,  and  the  mist  fell,  blown 
Asunder,  and  the  stars  shone.     All  around, 
Vast  mountains  bulked  against  an  ebony  sky 
League  beyond  league,  crested  with  snow,  and  floored 
With  sea-green  pines ;  as  though  the  almighty  deep, 
Heaving  his  foamy  legions  to  the  war 
Of  the  four  winds,  hung  suddenly  motionless — 
A  storm  in  stone;  and  the  moon,  shining  down 

[46] 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

Through  ripply  streams  of  cloud  that  warmed  from 

pearl 

To  amber  around  her,  silvered  the  long  swells 
Of  peak  and  pine,  and  carved  in  jetty  shade 
The  forms  of  crag  and  canyon,  precipice 
And  fissure,  gorge  and  ridge  and  chasm,  and  swept 
The  hollow  vales  with  mystery.     And  the  Prince 
Gazed  through  crystalline  space,  breathing  the  air 
Of  balsamed  groves ;  and  his  fears  fell  away 
Blown  leeward,  and  his  faith  cleared,  and  his  dream 
Shone  forth  once  more  new-born  before  him.     Then, 
Far  away  thrilled  a  lilt  of  delicate  song 
From  that  which,  glimmering  on  a  silvern  ridge, 
Gleamed  like  a  larger  moon.     And  the  King's  Son, 
Plunging  through  fresh  glooms  of  the  piny  dell 
And  laboring  up  the  further  slope,  was  ware 
Of  a  pale  palace  all  of  glimmering  ice, 
Whose  domes  the  moon  illumined,  and  whose  walls 
The  forest  fringed  with  deepening  green.     Behind, 
A  still  lake  held  the  clouds ;  in  front,  the  trees 
Crusted  with  frost,  shot  forth  a  million  fires 
Of  emerald  and  opal,  tourmaline, 
Jasper  and  beryl;  and  the  palace  itself 
So  drank  the  sky  and  paled  above  the  lake 
And  sparkled  with  the  trees,  that  all  its  lines 
Filmed  into  lights  and  hollows  without  form, 
A  gem  folded  in  darkness.     And  while  the  Prince 
Hesitated,  the  doors  moved,  and  there  came 
Forth  from  its  luminous  halls  under  the  sky 

[47] 


POEMS 

A  snow-white  Princess  robed  in  azure  and  crowned 
With  silver ;  and  her  eyes  were  like  the  moon ; 
Her  hair  was  like  the  midnight;  and  she  moved 
Like  starlight  on  a  river.     And  she  took 
His  hand,  and  spoke  his  name  softly,  and  turned 
Her  face  up,  saying: 

"  I  have  waited  long, 

And  thou  hast  wandered  far  to  find  me.     Come — 
I  weary  of  the  stillness  here." 

And  he, 

Recognizing  the  vision  of  his  dream, 
Yet  for  the  memory  of  unhappiness 
Doubtful: 

"  Hast  thou  in  truth  awaited  me?" 
And  while  he  spoke,  a  writhing  shadow  fell 
Between   them,   and   with   great   wings   covering   the 

moon, 

Over  the  hills  a  dreadful  dragon  flew, 
Scaled  all  in  venomous  green  like  the  bright  scum 
That  shines  on  stagnant  water ;  and  his  eyes, 
Lidless,  flickered  unsteady  fires,  and  forth 
Out  of  his  nostrils  puffed  thin  wreaths  of  smoke. 
Folding  his  leathery  vans,  the  monster  swung 
To  rest  beside  them,  and  his  talons  rasped 
The  gravel.     Then  the  Princess,  with  one  arm 
Over  his  scaly  crest: 

"  Behold  my  Lord 
And  Master.     Therefore,  if  thou  bear  a  heart 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

Strong  beyond  common  love,  casting  out  fear, 
Follow." 

The  Dragon  swelled,  and  firelit  smoke 
Puffed  with  his  laughter.    And  the  King's  Son,  all 
His  heart  heated  with  horror  of  such  a  mate, 
And  all  his  manhood  strung  with  danger,  strode 
After  them.     But  the  White  Cat  bent  herself 
Into  a  feathery  arch,  and  fluffed  her  tail, 
Hissing  hatred,  and  fled,  and  hid  herself 
In  the  green  lights  and  shadows  of  the  trees, 
And  would  not  enter. 

But  the  King's  Son  passed 

Through  shadowy  halls  lit  by  the  Dragon's  eyes, 
And  chilly  galleries  heated  by  his  breath, 
To  a  high  banquet-chamber  where  the  three 
Feasted.     And  ever  the  Princess  smiled  on  him 
Across  the  board,  with  timorous  glances  thrown 
Sidelong,  and  starry  beckoning  of  the  eyes 
Behind  the  Dragon,  and  through  subtle  speech 
Of  nothing,  words  and  tones  promising  all, 
And  thrills  of  understanding  undeclared — 
So  that  his  dream  shone  out  with  every  breath 
Stronger  and  lovelier;  and  his  wonder  grew 
That  having  lost  once,  he  could  love  the  more, 
Being  grown  wise  in  loving.     And  he  burned 
To  battle  with  the  Dragon,  and  triumph,  and  bear 
All  that  sweet  beauty  home.     Yet,  being  now 
Swordless,  and  for  his  first  failure  the  more 


POEMS 

Certain  of  death  if  he  again  should  fail, 

And  for  the  Princess  watching  and  warning  him, 

Hesitated,  trusting  in  her.     At  last 

The  Princess,  glancing  where  the  Dragon  lay, 

His  scaly  length  melting  into  the  floor 

And  lidless  eyes  flickering,  murmured: 

"  Sir  Prince, 

Thou  hast  a  harp.     Hast  thou  no  song  to  charm 
The  light  of  lidless  eyes  ?" 

And  the  King's  Son, 
Mindful  at  once  of  many  a  fairy  tale — 
How  Dragons  all  sleep  under  power  of  song — 
And  gathering  all  the  passion  of  his  dream 
In  one  wild  harmony,  his  harp  unslung, 
And  sang  across  the  midnight  and  the  moon: 

"  Day  sinks  down  to  rest: 
Softly  falls  the  night; 

Star-fires  glance  and  gleam 
On  the  river's  breast, 
And  the  warm,  low  light 
Silvers  into  dream. 

"  Let  us  drift  and  dream 

Here,  and  leave  the  rest, — 

Earth  is  ours  to-night: 
Shadow  lulls  the  gleam, 
Gathering  to  her  breast 
The  lost  rays  of  light. 

[60] 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

"  While  behind  the  light 
Of  thine  eyes,  a  dream 

Wakes,  and  will  not  rest, 
Yearning  to  unite 

Sundered  fires  that  gleam 
Hidden  in  each  breast; 

"  And  thy  breathing  breast 
Falters  with  delight, 

And  our  conquering  dream, 
Crowned,  trembles  to  rest 
In  the  arms  of  night 

Till  the  dawn  shall  gleam. 

Oh,  thy  hair  agleam 
Over  brow  and  breast, 

And  thine  eyes  alight — 
Ah,  to  bid  the  dream 
Linger,  and  arrest 

The  swift  hours  of  night! 

"  Therefore,  while  the  night 
Gathers,  and  stars  gleam, 

Dearest,  on  my  breast 
Lay  the  burden  light 

Of  thy  head,  and  dream.   .   .   . 
Close  thine  eyes,  and  rest." 

[51] 


POEMS 

And  while  he  sang,  the  Princess  curved  herself 
Against  the  scaly  body,  one  white  arm 
Flung  upward  over  the  green  crest,  and  leaned 
Her  head  thereon,  with  thrilled  lips  and  closed  eyes, 
Drinking  the  music.     And  the  Dragon's  breath 
Came  softlier,  and  his  wings  dropped;  and  the  flame 
In  his  red  nostrils  paled,  and  the  sparks  died 
Out  of  his  eyes ;  and  the  gloom  deepened,  save 
For  moonbeams  glimmering  through  the  icy  wall. 
And  as  the  last  chord  rang,  trembling  away, 
The  coils  fell  loosened,  and  the  lidless  eyes 
Rolled  upward.     Then  the  Princess  carefully 
Slipped  from  his  side,  rising,  finger  on  lip, 
Where  the  King's  Son  awaited  her.     And  he, 
Wondering  to  have  won  at  length  his  quest 
After  defeat,  opened  his  arms  to  her 
And  whispered: 

Thou  art  mine  now.     Therefore  come 
Home  to  my  Father's  kingdom." 

But  she  said, 
Shuddering,  and  looking  down: 

"  I  dare  not." 

She  seemed 

Paler  than  he  had  seen  her  in  his  dream, 
And  slighter.     Nevertheless,  his  whole  heart  yearned 
For  wonder  of  her  beauty ;  and  he  caught 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

Her  hands,  crying: 

"  Have  I  not  sung,  and  charmed 
The  Dragon?" 

And  she  answered: 

"  After  all, 
He  is  my  Dragon." 

And  with  that,  the  Prince, 

His  dream  shattering  around  him,  and  his  heart 
Black  with  a  horror  beyond  hope,  cried  out 
Heedlessly,  taking  no  thought  of  his  own  voice: 

"  Is  there  no  truth  in  any  fairy  tale?" 
And  with  that  word,  the  slumbering  Dragon  sprang 
Above  them,  breathing  smoke  and  flame,  his  eyes 
Flaring  blue  levin,  and  his  thunderous  vans 
Volleying  storm;  and  out  of  his  red  throat 
Screamed  one  white  blast  of  fire  that  seared  the  ice 
To  vapour,  and  the  walls  burst  and  the  floors 
Fell,  and  the  King's  Son  plunged  headlong,  far  down 
Where  a  black  river  rushed  beneath  the  ground 
As  deep  under  the  mountains  as  themselves 
Reared  up  their  craggy  heads  from  earth  to  sky; 
And  the  waters  closed  above  him  falling,  and  boiled 
Around  him,  and  the  flood  bore  him  away. 


All  night  the  White  Cat,  wandering  alone 
Around  the  enchanted  palace,  waited  in  vain 
Her  master;  but  at  dawn  crept  carefully 

[53] 


POEMS 

Forth  to  the  lake,  and  where  the  palace  of  ice 

Had  reared  its  glimmering  walls  under  the  moon, 

Saw  only  emptiness ;  and  a  black  well 

Yawned  in  the  ground,  and  from  beneath  there  came 

A  sound  of  rushing  water.     And  full  of  fear 

Yet  feeling  his  presence  there,  she  leaped  and  clomb 

Downward,  wherein  her  eyes,  fitted  for  gloom 

Where  men's  eyes   fail  them,  caught  the  light,  and 

showed 

Vaults  of  black  stone  where  a  black  flood  rushed  on 
Unending.     Then  along  the  bank  she  ran 
Swiftly  through  subterranean  dens,  and  caves 
Lapped  full  of  surging  water,  where  the  day 
Brought  no  light;  till  at  last,  lifted  on  waves 
And  whirled  on  eddies,  before  her  the  King's  Son 
Drifted,  senseless  and  drowned.     And  at  that  sight, 
She  raised  a  dolorous  cry,  and  where  the  stream 
Set  shoreward,  leaped  and  caught  his  shoulder,  and 

clung, 

Mewing.     And  the  King's  Son,  hearing  her  cry, 
Half  waked  out  of  his  swoon,  and  flung  blind  arms 
Round  that  which,  floating  on  the  flood,  upbore 
His  head  above  the  water.     Then,  presently, 
Long  lights  gleamed  from  behind,  and  on  broad  vans 
Winnowing  the  gloom,  with  eyes  that  glanced  on  wall 
And  water,  and  hot  breath  poisoning  the  air, 
Over  their  heads  the  scaly  Dragon  flew, 
Skimming  the  wave,  and  where  the  King's  Son  swam, 
Dipped  like  the  purple-crested  kingfisher, 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

Snatching  at  him,  and  plunged  his  jaws  that  boiled 

The  stream  to  vapour.     Then  against  the  roar 

Of  flood  and  fire  belled  out  a  golden  clang 

Before  them,  and  the  Golden  Giant  ran 

Leaping  along  the  bank,  or  wading  in 

Smote  with  his  mace,  and  howled  with  laughter,  and 

hurled 

Huge  stones.    And  the  King's  Son,  by  the  black  glare 
Along  the  water,  saw  that  the  floating  mass 
Whereby  he  held  his  head  above  the  stream 
Was  the  white  princess  of  his  vision,  dead 
And  ghastly,  her  hair  shining,  and  her  eyes 
Glassily  mirroring  the  Dragon's.     Then 
He  shrieked  and  thrust  away;  but  as  he  sank 
The  White  Cat  clinging  on  his  shoulder  cried 
Piteously;  and  he,  past  all  desire 
Of  his  own  life,  yet  lest  by  his  own  death 
The  creature  that  alone  had  faith  in  him, 
Though  helpless  and  unhelpful,  should  be  slain, 
Clung  again  to  the  corpse,  and  swam,  avoiding 
Dragon  and  Giant  as  he  might.     So  they 
For  hours  beyond  numbering  drifted  down 
The  black  stream  through  the  dim  cave;  while  above, 
The  Dragon  dived  and  clutched,  and  alongside 
The  Golden  Giant  raged,  and  his  dead  dream 
Upheld  him.     And  that  horror  turned  his  brain 
To  madness,  and  through  dreadful  dreams  he  saw 
Dragon  and  Princess  writhed  in  one  foul  coil 
Of  white  and  green,  Princess  and  Giant  clasped 

[55] 


POEMS 

In  a  golden  flame  of  laughter,  and  all  at  once 
Mixed  in  a  monstrous  whirl  of  wings  and  eyes 
And  limbs  and  colours ;  and  he  heard  the  hiss 
Of  kisses,  and  the  corpse  whereto  he  clung 
Seemed  now  the  raven  Princess,  now  the  Fair; 
And  within  both  the  vision  of  his  dream 
Glimmered,  and  mocked  him.      Then  the  flame  and 

roar 

Turned  murmuring  summer  wind,  and  flush  of  dawn 
Over  cool  fields  of  billowy  blossoms,  fair 
With  purl  of  brook  and  song  of  wakening  bird, 
And    breath    of    rain-washed    woodland;    then    once 

more, 

Struggling  back  into  sense,  he  saw  again 
The  lurid  cavern  and  the  murky  flood, 
The  Giant  and  the  Dragon  and  the  Dead, 
And  the  White  Cat  that  on  his  shoulder  clung — 
Lit  by  uncanny  fires  and  swept  along 
Through  glooms  unending,  down  the  unrestful  stream. 


Slowly  as  one  that  from  the  house  of  death 
Bitterly  escaping,  swims  through  fires  of  pain 
And  storms  of  fever,  and  black  floods  of  sleep, 
Till  at  the  last  his  soul,  returning,  clears 
Faint  eyes,  and  with  a  dim  wonder  he  sees 
The  strange  walls  of  his  own  remembered  room, 
Where  the  gray  day,  through  curtains  closely  drawn 

[56] 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

Sickens  the  lamplight,,  and  the  house  is  still — 
Even  so  the  King's  Son,  gathering  his  soul 
And  opening  weary  eyes,  gazed  listlessly 
Wondering  at  the  strange  remembered  shores 
Of  his  own  country.     Over  him  the  hills 
Paled  through  a  mist.     Behind  him,  the  wan  sea, 
Laden  with  heavy  clouds  too  dull  for  storm, 
Plashed,   and   surged   slowly.      In    front,   the   sallow 

fields 

Ran  fading  into  fog,  streaked  with  late  snow 
And  spongy  ice ;  and  leafless  trees  held  up 
A  net  of  nakedness  before  the  sky; 
And  the  air  chilled  without  frost,  and  fine  rain 
Fell  without  wind,  freezing;  and  the  whole  land 
Barren  and  brown  with  desolation,  lay 
Sick  for  the  end  of  Winter.     The  King's  Son 
Rose,  shivering,  and  the  White  Cat,  that  had  lain 
Close  to  his  breast  for  warmth,  slipped  with  a  snarl, 
And  found  her  feet,  and  yawned  and  spread  her  claws 
Shaking  the  wet  mist  from  her  feathery  fur, 
And  limped  beside  him.     They  went  inland,  mired 
In  sodden  ruts  and  heaps  of  leaden  snow, 
Through  the  chill  rain,  under  the  darkening  sky, 
Where  light  glowed  in  a  cottage  window.     There 
The  King's  Son,  entering,  called  for  food  and  fire 
And  messengers ;  but  the  goodman,  amazed 
At  the  strange  figure  strangely  attended,  railed 
Upon  him  for  a  madman,  and  thrust  him  forth. 
And  the  King's  Son  cursed  him,  and  went  his  way, 

[57] 


POEMS 

The  White  Cat  following,  where  along  the  road 
A  troop  of  soldiers  passed,  with  clash  of  steel 
And  creak  of  saddle,  splashing  the  mire,  and  sang 
Merrily  as  they  went  a  bawdy  song; 
Who,  when  the  King's  Son  asked  whither  his  way 
Led  to  the  Palace,  beat  their  thighs  and  blew 
Glad  oaths  and  laughter,  crying: 

"  The  Palace !     He  seeks 
The  Palace !     He— the  Palace !" 

And  rode  on. 

And  the  King's  Son  cursed  them  and  went  his  way, 
The  White  Cat  following,  where  a  crowd  of  boys 
Ran   homeward,    shouting   shrilly,    and   pushed   each 

other 

Into  the  mire,  and  hurled  wet  clods  of  snow 
Laughing;  but  when  the  King's  Son  spoke  to  them, 
Huddled  and  whispered  together,  pointing,  and  then 
Ran  past,  and  huddled  again  beyond  him,  and  there 
Pointed  and  whispered.     But  the  White  Cat  ran 
Before  him  up  a  hill,  and  snuffed  the  air, 
Looked  back  and  called,  and  ran,  and  paused  again; 
And  the  King's  Son,  wondering,  followed  her 
Up  a  long  slope,  over  the  ridge,  and  thence 
Through  mire  and  snow  and  chill  rain  sifting  down 
Out  of  the  darkening  sky,  and  stood  amazed, 
Recognizing  the  place  of  his  own  home ; 
But  where  warm  lights  had  burned  and  tall  towers 

frowned 
Saw  only  desolation,  tottering  walls 

[58] 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

Unroofed,  columns  discrowned,  and  rafters  gnawed 
Naked  by  fire,  and  frozen  heaps  of  stone — 
Black  ruin.     And  he  drew  near,  and  sat  down 
Stunned.     And  the  White  Cat,  creeping  to  his  breast 
For  warmth,  shivered,  and  the  rain  fell. 

At  length, 

He  rose,  and  over  an  angle  of  the  wall 
Yet  standing,  dragged  loose  timbers  and  dead  vines 
For  shelter.    And  the  White  Cat,  creeping  in 
Nestled  close,  and  the  gray  lights  darkened.     Then, 
Numb  beyond  any  sorrow,  the  King's  Son 
Looked  back  over  his  life,  unravelling  all 
His  failure,  seeing  how  his  dream  was  vain: 
How  joy  hides  from  desire,  and  sleep  evades 
Weariness,  while  the  accursed  bathe  in  bliss, 
And  over  hell  hang  the  glad  gates  of  heaven; 
And  gathering  dreary  madness,  lifted  up 
His  voice,  tunelessly,  and  while  cold  winds  wove 
Weird  counterpoint  above  the  melody, 
He  sang  across  the  winter  and  the  storm: 

"  Summer  now  is  done. 
Leaf  and  blossom  gone — 
Faded,  every  one: 

"  All  her  lights  withdrawn, 
And  the  dreams  of  night 
And  the  hopes  of  dawn. 

[59] 


POEMS 

"  Wherefore  shall  I  fight? 
I  have  won  and  lost 
All  the  world's  delight, 

"  And  have  paid  the  cost. 
Will  the  storm  deprive 
Winter  of  her  frost? 

"  Wherefore  shall  I  strive? 
Neither  prize  to  win, 
Joy  to  keep  alive, 

11  Nor  the  taste  of  sin 
Beckons  me  to  prove 
What  may  lie  therein. 

"  Wherefore  shall  I  love? 
I  have  known  the  shames 
And  the  shifts  thereof: 

"  How  her  faiths  and  flames 
Are  but  hollow  lust 
Called  by  sounding  names. 

"  Honour,  pride,  and  trust 
Turn  upon  my  tongue 
Into  shards  and  dust; 

[60] 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

"  All  the  dice  are  flung, 
All  the  tales  are  told. 
All  the  songs  are  sung — 

"  Give  me,  being  old, 
Peace  from  pangs  begun, 
Shelter  from  the  cold, 
Shadow  from  the  sun — 
Summer  now  is  done." 

And  as  the  song  closed,  the  White  Cat,  that  slept 
Against  him,  woke  hissing,  and  struggled  free, 
Bristled  and  growled,  with  emerald  eyes  that  glared 
Wildly  upon  him,  then  leaped  forth,  and  fled 
Into  the  dusk,  and  vanished.     And  the  King's  Son, 
Wondering  what  last  horror  had  changed  him  so 
To  fright  the  creature,  raised  the  dingy  glass 
That  hung  still  from  his  girdle,  and  therein 
Saw  not  himself  but  that  which  had  been  he, 
Starting  upon  his  journey;  and  by  his  side, 
Beautiful  as  the  memory  of  a  dream 
And  sweet  as  hope,  watching  him  with  glad  eyes, 
The  Princess.     Day  and  night  shadowed  and  shone 
Across  the  magic  mirror;  and  through  all, 
The  vision  of  his  dream  following  him 
Over  the  mountains  and  the  sea,  beyond 
The  gates  of  Faery,  over  the  meadows  of  dawn, 
Through  the  pale  mist,  across  the  moon-swept  hills, 
And  down  the  underground  river,  all  the  while 

[61] 


POEMS 

Guarding  and  guiding  when  he  knew  it  not, 
Even  to  that  hour.    And  while  he  gazed,  between 
Memory  and  vision,  suddenly  a  light  fell 
Across  him,  and  a  sharp  fragrance,  and  there, 
Lovelier  than  he  had  seen  her  in  his  dream, 
Stood  his  own  Princess  out  of  Fairyland 
Alive  before  him.     Her  eyes  were  like  the  dawn; 
Her  hair  was  like  the  twilight;  and  she  moved 
Like  music  over  water.     And  the  King's  Son 
Gazing  upon  her,  felt  his  whole  heart  break 
For  wonder  and  great  love.     Nevertheless, 
Mindful  how  he  had  failed  upon  the  quest 
For  want  of  understanding,  and  of  the  truth 
Under  the  heart  of  every  fairy  tale — 
That  every  quest  is  but  a  coming  home — 
And  sorrowing  for  his  last  friend  gone  from  him, 
Said  wearily: 

"  I  know  now.  Thou  hast  come 
When  all  that  should  be  thine  dries  out  of  me: 
Why  not  while  I  was  worthy?" 

And  she  said 
Softly: 

"  How  could  I  ?" 

And  with  that,  the  Prince 
Forlorn  of  all  that  had  been  spoiled  in  him — 
Age,  and  gray  hairs,  his  kingdom  gone,  his  dream 
Dried  into  dust,  his  power  wasted  away — 
And  shaming  that  such  beauty  should  be  bound 

[Of] 


THE  WHITE  CAT:  A  FAIRY-POEM 

Save  unto  strength  and  freshness  like  her  own, 
Answered : 

I  have  grown  old  now,  having  seen 
How  joy  hides  from  desire  to  dog  the  steps 
Of  languor.     I  have  sought  my  dream,  and  lost 
The  power  of  dreaming.     What  life  I  have  left 
Thou  hast  saved.     My  thanks  therefore;  and  .  .  . 
farewell." 

While  he  had  spoken,  she  with  narrowing  eyes 
And  arms  bent  inward  on  her  bosom,  looked 
Elsewhere.    At  last  she  said: 

"  Thou  hast  no  gift 

To  give  me.     I  ask  nothing.     Is  there  none 
Thou  wilt  receive?" 

And  the  Prince  answered: 

"  One- 
One  friend,  no  dream,  that  stood  with  me  through  all; 
That  could  not  help,  but  would  not  hide  from  me; 
Helpless,  but  would  not  fear.     Now,  if  thou  be 
Truly  a  princess  out  of  Fairyland, 
Find  her." 

Thereat  the  Princess  with  one  cry, 
Half  purr,  half  laughter,  sprang  to  him,  and  back 
From  her  white  throat  the  furry  mantle  flung, 
And  locked  her  arms  about  him,  and  on  his  heart 
Hid  her  face,  and  sighed  happily,  and  lay  still. 

[63] 


POEMS 

And  the  King's  Son  held  her,  speaking  no  word; 
Knowing  in  her  warm  breast  all  fires  that  burn 
By  happy  hearths,  and  in  her  dusk  of  hair 
The  breath  of  all  the  roses  of  the  earth, 
And  in  her  eyes  the  wonder  of  all  dawns 
From  the  beginning  of  the  world.     And  while 
They  clung  together,  trembling,  a  sweet  wind 
Blew  suddenly  out  of  the  blossomy  South, 
Full  of  a  nameless  joy;  and  the  gray  snows 
Bloomed,  and  the  darkness  brightened,  and  the  clouds 
Parted,  and  over  Winter  brake  the  Spring. 


[64] 


SONNETS 


IDOLATRY: THREE  SONNETS 


I  must  forget  life,  ere  you  shall  persuade 

My  heart  beyond  it.     Though  at  last  I  came 
Without  hope  to  the  horror  of  dark  flame,, 

Or  among  glad  great  angels  dreamed  and  prayed, 

What  matter?     Have  I  not  already  made 

Love's  own  lips  tremulous  to  breathe  my  name 
And  seen  all  night  the  lidless  eyes  of  shame 

Stare  through  the  darkness  where  I  lay  afraid? 

I  should  yearn  down  from  Heaven  at  the  voice 
Of  a  strong  child  crying  out  angrily — 

Struggle  up  from  Nirvana  for  the  smell 
Of  rain-sweet  woods  in  Autumn;  or  rejoice 
To  watch  the  moon  rise  over  a  dim  sea, 
Lifting  my  head  serenely  out  of  Hell. 


67] 


POEMS 


II 

If  God  should  say:    "  From  all  my  power  to  bless 
Choose  thine  own  heaven,  where  the  soul  shall  be 
Fired  with  white  joy,  or  drowned  in  a  sweet  sea 

Of  everlasting  calm  for  get  fulness." 

I  should  make  answer:     "Lord,  earth's  images 
Of  heaven  are  fairer;  therefore  leave  me  free — 
Make  me  immortal  in  mortality — 

Thou  hast  no  more  to  give;  grant  me  no  less." 

Wonder  too  deep  for  dream;  glory  to  blind 
The  sight  of  angels;  agony  to  endure 

Beyond  all  sense;  hate,  laughter,  love,  and  fear- 
What  need  for  other  worlds?     The  soul  were  sure, 
After  innumerable  lives,  to  find 
Ever  inviolate  adventures  here. 


[68 


IDOLATRY:  THREE  SONNETS 


III 


Lord,  for  no  man  may  look  upon  thy  face, 
I  turn  from  seeking  thee  to  fall  before 
The  forms  of  thy  creation,  and  adore 

The  sacred  clay  of  thine  abiding-place: 

Yea.,  as  a  lover  treasureth  some  trace 
Of  her  who  will  not  hear,  so  evermore 
Close  to  my  heart  I  wear  the  golden  lore 

Of  beauty,  gemmed  with  shining  nights  and  days. 

Dost  thou  not  laugh  in  every  child,  and  brood 
In  every  mother?    Whose  joy  glorifies 

The  passion  of  new  loving,  and  controls 
Old  pain?     Are  not  our  songs  half-understood 
Overtones  of  thy  voice,  and  our  own  souls 
Images  of  the  dream  behind  thine  eyes? 


69] 


ANDANTE 

Now  gently  sinks  the  long  sweet  Summer  day 

In  blossom-breathing  dimness.     The  sharp  wings 
Of  chattering  swallows  touch  with  mystic  rings 

The  shadowy  pool.     The  last  wide  Western  ray 

Glows  tawny-crimson.     And  from  far  away, 

Each  breeze  that  stirs  the  timorous  poplar  brings 
The  moan  of  herds.,  the  call  of  feathered  things. 

The  song  and  laugh  of  little  ones  at  play  .  .   . 

All  beauty.     Pain  and  passion  seem  as  far 

From  this  calm  spot  as  yon  grim  city,  spread 
Behind  the  smoke-topped  mountains,  where  the 

breast 
Of  patient  earth  sobs  to  the  ceaseless  jar 

Of  steel  on  stone,  the  clash  of  bells,  the  tread 
Of  slumberless  myriads.     Here  is  only  rest. 


[70] 


A  SCHOOLGIRL  SPEAKS 

You  are  not  like  the  others — that  is  all. 

I  do  not  think  you  wonderful  nor  wise, 

Make  you  a  hero  in  my  reveries, 
Nor  bend  my  fancy  to  your  beck  and  call; 
Yet  .   .   .  when  you  come,  there  seems  a  veil  let  fall, 

And  little  matters  brighten  and  surprise — 

I  am  afraid  of  something  in  your  eyes, 
And  I  am  glad  that  you  are  strong  and  tall. 

I  have  not  given  this  new  thing  a  name — 
Not  even  to  myself.     You  cannot  see, 

And  I  should  hate  you  if  I  thought  you  knew — 
Only  ...   I  am  grown  older  since  you  came, 
Stronger,  because  your  strength  belongs  to  me, 
And  more  myself,  being  a  part  of  you. 


[71] 


LOVE  AND  PAIN:  TWO  SONNETS 


I  dreamed.     And  lo,  upon  a  shadowy  mound 
Love  stood  alone  beneath  a  juniper,, 
And  all  the  light  of  heaven  brake  from  her, 

Golden,  and  shook  about  her  like  a  sound. 

Then,  drawing  nearer,  by  her  side  I  found 
A  sister-shape  that  ever  might  not  stir 
From  Love's  left  hand.     Death-white  her  features 
were; 

Her  lips  were  straight  and  scarlet,  like  a  wound. 

I  have  seen  a  tree,  against  the  Western  light 
Nebulous  with  golden  glory:  and  again, 
Graven  against  the  gloaming,  ebony-plain. 
Even  so  all  delicate  wonders,  overbright 
Upon  the  face  of  Love  for  mortal  sight, 
Were  shadow-graven  on  the  face  of  Pain. 


LOVE  AND  PAIN:  TWO  SONNETS 


II 


I  cried:     "  Love,  must  it  ever  be  thy  price 
To  find  thee  fostering  this  form  of  dread?  " 
And  Love  looked  at  me  with  thine  eyes,  and  said: 
"  She  is  the  shadow  of  a  soul,  that  lies 

Within  my  light,  Mistress  of  Mysteries. 

Face  her,  and  find;  flee  her,  and  I  am  fled." 
And  at  the  word,  that  phantom  raised  her  head, 

Smiling.     I  saw  that  she  too  had  thine  eyes. 

Then  while  I  wondered,  she  drew  near,  to  lay 
Cold  hands  of  fear  upon  my  heart,  and  pressed 
Terrible  lips  on  mine;  and  as  the  crest 
Of  some  dark  wave  shatters  to  shining  spray, 
So  my  dream  swelled  and  shattered  into  day — 
And  Love's  own  self  lay  laughing  on  my  breast. 


[73] 


GHOSTS 

The  dead  return  to  us  continually: 

Not  at  the  void  of  night,,  as  fables  feign, 

In  some  lone  spot  where  murdered  bones  have  lain 

Wailing  for  vengeance  to  the  passer-by; 

But  in  the  merry  clamour  and  full  cry 

Of  the  brave  noon,  our  dead  whom  we  have  slain 
And  in  forgotten  graves  hidden  in  vain, 

Rise  up  and  stand  beside  us  terribly. 

Sick  with  the  beauty  of  their  dear  decay 
We  conjure  them  writh  laughters  onerous 
And  drunkenness  of  labour ;  yet  not  thus 
May  we  absolve  ourselves  of  yesterday — 
We  cannot  put  those  clinging  arms  away, 
Nor  those  glad  faces  yearning  over  us. 


"  HAEC  OLIM  MEMINISSE   .  .  ." 

There  is  a  Summer  stillness  everywhere. 
Under  the  woven  pines  my  Lady  lies 
Dreaming,  with  childlike  lips,  and  mysteries 

Of  light  and  shadow  moving  in  her  hair. 

Her  faith  hangs  over  us  and  thrills  the  air, 
And  the  trees  know  it,  and  the  butterflies 
Flash  it  across  the  sunbeams.  In  her  eyes 

Unspoken  gladness  gathers  like  a  prayer. 

Dear,  in  the  twilight  of  our  happiness, 
After  the  flame  and  struggle  of  the  day, 

We  shall  look  back  sweetly  on  hours  like  these: 
Not  seared  into  our  hearts  by  any  stress, 

But  sealed  with  Love's  own  seal,  and  laid  away 
Within  the  starlit  treasuries  of  Peace. 


[75 


SOMNAMBULA 

She  fills  her  hours  with  fantasy,  to  keep 

The  great  hour  silent:  blossom-loves  that  fall 
Unmourned,  pleasures  of  labour  prodigal, 

And  careless  woes  eager  for  tears  to  weep — 

Ripples  on  the  unfathomable  deep, 

Flashing  with  foam  and  sunshine,  musical 
With  lisping  reeds  and  prattling  shallows — all 

Busily  alive;  and  all  that  life  one  sleep. 

Laughter,  and  merry  memories,  and  sweet  breath 
Of  days  made  rich  by  many  a  brief  desire — 
These  are  her  dreams.     Their  glimmering  veils 

are  drawn 

Where  (O,  tread  softly!)  herself  hides  beneath.  .  .  . 
Hush !  .  .  .  Woman,  with  her  soul  of  song  and  fire, 
Slumbering  quietly  before  the  dawn. 


76] 


FROM  LIFE 

Her  thoughts  are  like  a  flock  of  butterflies. 

She  has  a  merry  love  of  little  things 

And  a  bright  flutter  of  speech,  whereto  she  brings 
A  threefold  eloquence — voice,  hands,  and  eyes. 
Yet  under  all  a  subtle  silence  lies, 

As  a  bird's  heart  is  hidden  by  its  wings, 

And  you  shall  search  through  many  wanderings 
The  Fairyland  of  her  realities. 

She  hides  herself  behind  a  busy  brain: 

A  woman,  with  a  child's  laugh  in  her  blood, 
A  maid,  wearing  the  shadow  of  motherhood, — 
Wise  with  the  quiet  memory  of  old  pain, 
As  the  soft  glamour  of  remembered  rain 
Hallows  the  gladness  of  a  sunlit  wood. 


[77] 


A  PORTRAIT 

Mother  and  maid  and  soldier,  bearing  best 
Her  girl's  lithe  body  under  matron  gray, 
And  opening  new  eyes  on  each  new  day 

With  faith  concealed  and  courage  unconfessed; 

Jealous  to  cloak  a  blessing  in  a  jest, 
Clothe  beauty  carefully  in  disarray, 
And  love  absurdly,  that  no  word  betray 

The  worship  all  her  deeds  make  manifest: 

Armoured  in  smiles,  a  motley  Britomart — 

Her  lance  is  high  adventure,  tipped  with  scorn; 

Her  banner  to  the  suns  and  winds  unfurled, 
Washed  white  with  laughter;  and  beneath  her  heart, 
Shrined  in  a  garland  of  laborious  thorn, 

Blooms  the  unchanging  Rose  of  all  the  World. 


ARS  LONGA 

Not  thy  great  gifts,  O  God !     I  would  not  be 

The  prophet  honoured  in  an  alien  clime ; 

Or  send  my  name  trumpeting  down  through  time, 
Selling  my  manhood  for  a  memory. 
So  should  I  fade  into  the  shows  of  me: — 

My  joy  become  the  reason  of  a  rhyme, 

My  pain,  a  figure  in  the  pantomime, 
My  love,  a  light  over  an  unknown  sea. 

Give  me  but  what  thou  givest  all  mankind: 
A  little  faith  in  that  I  labour  for, 

A  friend  whose  name  I  daily  think  to  bless, 
A  woman  in  whose  eyes  I  seek  and  find, 
Children  mysteriously  mine — no  more 
Than  common,  ordinary  happiness. 


79] 


APRIL  NOON 

Silence.     Faint  warmth  of  the  awakening  sun 

Drowned  in  pale  light.    The  meadows  lapse  away- 
Ridges  of  brown  and  slopes  of  sallow  gray — 

To  where  the  leafless  hills  are  dusky-dun. 

Earth  holds  her  breath,  and  waits  while  slowly  run 
The  ordered  hours  in  pitiless  delay; 
Fearing  the  vanished  snows  of  yesterday, 

Nor  daring  yet  to  deem  the  Summer  won. 

As  a  sick  woman  from  the  house  of  death 
But  newly  ransomed,  overweak  to  care 

For  life  renewed  and  love  made  warm  again, 
Faints  slowly  back  to  life  with  each  calm  breath, 
Finding  a  joy  almost  too  keen  to  bear 
Only  in  this,  that  there  is  no  more  pain. 


80] 


FOR  THE   CENTENARY  OF   SAMUEL 
JOHNSON 


FOR  THE   CENTENARY  OF  SAMUEL 
JOHNSON 

When  the  slow  cycle  of  a  hundred  years 
Out  of  the  dark  some  golden  date  uprears 
Whose  casual  numbers  form  a  spell  to  raise 
Dead  virtues  up  amid  appointed  praise, 
Conjure  huge  ghosts  out  of  their  gorgeous  gloom 
And  lay  brief  wreaths  on  some  immortal  tomb, — 
How  many  celebrants  completely  know 
What  acts  deserve  the  homage  they  bestow? 
How  many  of  the  multitudes  who  throng 
To  laud  the  Singer,  that  have  heard  the  song? 
Or,  while  they  hail  the  Artist's  deed  supreme, 
Dwell  with  him  in  the  beauty  of  his  dream? 
The  leaders  of  the  hour — a  few  at  most — 
Honour  a  man :  the  people  praise  a  ghost. 
Theirs  not  to  ask  what  made  the  holiday — 
The  priest  proclaims;  the  worshippers  obey: 
From  mouldering  shrines  the  festal  fires  arise, 
And  unknown  gods  are  throned  in  alien  skies; 
Forgotten  deeds  their  sires  commemorate, 
And  names  remembered  prove  their  bearers  great. 

[83] 


POEMS 

So  we  to-night  raise  monumental  breath 
To  works  already  crumbling  into  death, 
Pay  each  unopened  tome  a  generous  meed — 
Delight  to  honour,  and  decline  to  read. 
Who  rambles  with  the  Rambler?    Who  hath  power 
To  invoke  the  Idler  for  an  idle  hour, 
Thread  the  great  Lexicon's  laborious  mass, 
Or  wrestle  in  the  waste  with  Rasselas? 
Yet  ...  we  do  well.    Smile  as  we  may  on  those 
Who  praise  immortal  works  that  no  one  knows, 
We  need  not  bear  that  charge,  who  celebrate 
No  man  ephemeral  whom  his  deeds  made  great — 
No  Artist,  whose  dominion  and  control 
End  with  his  work — we  celebrate  a  soul. 
Johnson  has  been  and  is:  here  stands  his  pride — 
A  spirit  living  whose  exploits  have  died. 

Have  you  not  known  some  friend  whom  but  to  see 
Was  Faith,  whose  silence  was  Philosophy, 
Whose  presence  Love — yet  bore  a  common  fate 
And  did  no  deed  of  those  which  men  call  great? 
In  whom  all  powers  burned  but  could  not  shine — 
A  poet,  though  he  never  wrote  a  line, 
A  general  whose  wars  were  all  a  jest, 
A  prince  whose  kingdom  was  the  passing  guest, 
A  saint  at  heart,  who  loved  the  homely  strife 
And  gay  sins  of  an  ordinary  life — 
Who  wore  his  human  frailties  like  a  crown, 
Whose  humour  kept  his  colder  virtues  down 

[84] 


CENTENARY  OF  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

Lest  they  should  leave  the  kindly  earth,  and  rise 

Snow-peaked  to  the  discomfortable  skies? 

On  such  men's  graves  no  formal  blooms  are  flung — 

They  live  unheralded  and  die  unsung; 

Nor  can  our  words  their  secret  worth  convey 

To  light  the  darkness  of  a  later  day. 

Yet  there  is  little  need.     Their  lives  live  on 

Beyond  all  fame  that  genius  might  have  won. 

They  dwell  in  us,  to  whom  their  frequence  lent 

A  Being  greater  than  Accomplishment, — 

A  joy  in  joy,  a  strength  to  stand  unawed 

Before  the  storms  of  pain,  a  proof  of  God. 

So  much  the  virtue  of  a  soul  proceeds 
More  from  itself  than  from  its  actual  deeds ; 
So  much  the  giver  is  the  gift's  best  worth — 
The  man  more  potent  than  his  work  on  earth — 
That  legendary  kings  deserve  their  fame 
But  by  a  breath,  tradition,  and  a  name. 
Great  men  their  eulogists  immortalize, 
And  shine  reflected  in  unbodied  eyes. 
So  we  discover  that  Athenian  Sage 
Not  on  his  own  but  on  another's  page, 
And  by  this  tribute  read  his  wisdom  clear: 
That  Plato  stooped  to  be  his  chronicler. 
And  so  with  Johnson.     Though  his  works  be  dust, 
His  words  dim  with  unconquerable  rust, 
The  man  lives  on — a  legend  and  a  face 
Stamped  on  the  coinage  of  our  English  race. 

[85] 


POEMS 

What  though  his  windmill  foes  be  all  o'erthrown? 

His  heart  still  fights  with  dragons  in  our  own. 

What  though  great  friends  his  lustre  overdim? 

He  lived  with  giants,  and  they  honored  him. 

Still  on  the  vast  horizon  of  the  years, 

Over  the  kneeling  radiance  of  his  peers, 

His  craggy  figure  towers :  quaint,  uncouth, 

A  savage  bravery  of  homely  truth, 

A  courage  stumbling  on  through  toil  and  pain, 

A  clumsy  humour,  and  a  clean  disdain, — 

A  cloudy  pillar  of  sustained  desire 

Which,  when  the  gloom  o'erwhelmed  it,  turned  to  fire; 

An  Ursa  Major,  wheeling  round  the  pole 

Outlined  in  stars,  and  every  star  a  soul — 

Souls  of  less  worth  more  visibly  expressed 

Whose  light  keeps  the  great  shadow  manifest. 

Not  only  those  who  dwell  in  ancient  days 
To  Johnson's  name  pay  veritable  praise; 
Not  only  they  whose  learning  holds  by  heart 
The  musty  worthiness  his  words  impart — 
We,  like  blind  mirrors,  hold  his  image  clear, 
And  in  strange  tongues  bid  the  brave  ghost  appear. 

October,  1909. 


86] 


SONGS 


A  MAN-CHILD'S  LULLABY 

Little  groping  hands  that  must  learn  the  weight  of 

labour, 

Little  eyes  of  wonder  that  must  learn  to  weep ; 
Mother  is  thy  life  now:  that  shall  be  to-morrow — 
Time  enough  for  trouble — time  enough  for  sorrow — 
Now  .  .  .  sleep. 

Little  dumb  lips  that  shall  wake  and  make  a  woman, 
Little  blind  heart  that  shall  know  the  worst  and 

best; 

Mother  is  thy  love  now:  that  shall  be  hereafter — 
Time  enough  for  joy,  and  time  enough  for  laughter — 
Now  .  .  .  rest. 

Little  rosy  body,  new-born  of  pain  and  beauty, 

Little  lonely  s-oul  new-risen  from  the  deep; 
Mother  is  thy  world  now,  whole  and  satisfying — 
Time  enough  for  living — time  enough  for  dying — 
Now  .  .  .  sleep. 


[89] 


AMULETS 

Out  of  the  dark,  your  eyes, 
Beckoning  far  and  fair, 

Under  whose  laughter  gleams 

A  witchery  of  dreams — 
A  fantasy  of  prayer — 

Making  new  hopes  arise 
Out  of  the  dark  .  .  .  your  eyes ! 

Out  of  the  storm,  your  voice, 

Bidding  the  sea  be  still, 
Warm  with  the  kindly  mirth 
And  honesty  of  earth, 

Rousing  my  strength  to  will, 
And  struggle,  and  rejoice 
Out  of  the  storm  .  .   .  your  voice ! 

Out  of  the  world,  your  heart, 
Waiting  to  call  me  home — 

A  beautiful  calm  place 

Wherein  to  hide  my  face 

Awhile  from  flame  and  foam, 

Feeling  all  pain  depart 
Out  of  the  world  .  .  .  your  heart ! 


[90] 


SONG 

Dear,  though  you  wander  over  peace  and  passion, 

Searching  the  days  to  prove  yourself  untrue, 
You  cannot  hide  me.    Still,  in  my  own  fashion, 
I  shall  come  back  to  you. 

In  other  eyes,  on  lips  that  bid  you  doubt  me, 

In  music,  in  the  little  things  we  knew, 
In  your  blind  prayers  for  happiness  without  me — 
I  shall  come  back  to  you. 

God  keep  you  safe  through  all  the  ache  of  learning, 

Through  all  the  wrong  you  need  to  be  and  do, 
Till  in  the  wise  joy  of  unf earful  yearning 

I  shall  come  back — I  shall  come  back  to  you! 


[91] 


MOTHER  OF  MEN 

Mother  of  Men,  grown  strong  in  giving 
Honour  to  them  thy  lights  have  led; 

Rich  in  the  faith  of  thousands  living, 

Proud  of  the  deeds  of  thousands  dead — 

We  who  have  felt  thy  power,  and  known  thee, 
We  in  whose  work  thy  gifts  avail, 

High  in  our  hearts  enshrined  enthrone  thee, 
Mother  of  Men— Old  Yale ! 

Spirit  of  youth,  alive,  unchanging, 

Under  whose  feet  the  years  are  cast; 

Queen  of  an  ageless  empire,  ranging 
Over  the  future  and  the  past — 

Thee,  whom  our  fathers  loved  before  us, 
Thee,  whom  our  sons  unborn  shall  hail, 

Praise  we  to-day  in  sturdy  chorus, 
Mother  of  Men— Old  Yale ! 

New  Haven,  1909. 


A  MAN'S  SONG 

Sweetheart,  love  me  dearly — 

Why  need  you  struggle  so; 
Keep  the  kiss  you  mean  for  me, 

Hide  the  heart  I  know? 
All  your  truth  and  purity 

Into  love  are  grown — 
Sweetheart,  love  me  dearly 

While  to-day's  our  own! 

Sweetheart,  love  me  truly, 

And  all  good  dreams  are  true — 
Life  and  death  are  little  things 

In  the  light  of  you. 
Only  let  your  wonderings 

Keep  me  strong  and  sure — 
Sweetheart,  love  me  truly 

While  our  days  endure. 


[98} 


A  WOMAN'S  SONG 

Glad  and  fair  is  my  young  love, 

He  to  whom  my  pulses  move, 
He  whose  pleasure  I  obey — 
Glad  as  dawn,  and  fair  as  day. 

Very  strong  and  sweet  is  he 
That  hath  lordship  over  me — 
He  to  whom  I  all  am  given — 
Strong  as  death,  and  sweet  as  heaven. 

Mary  Mother,  grant  me  this 

Only,  out  of  all  thy  bliss: 
Let  his  longing  never  tire — 
(He  whose  lips  are  ice  and  fire — ) 
Make  me  worth  his  whole  desire ! 


[94] 


A  ROBIN'S  SONG 

Wake,  Pretty  One,  wake! 
The  morn  comes  over  the  mountain; 
Tenderly,  gaily,  the  swift,  sweet  breeze 
Kisses  the  dew  from  the  trembling  trees ; 

Day's  ready  to  break — 

Wake,  Pretty  One,  wake! 

Sing,  Pretty  One,  sing! 
The  violet  blooms  by  the  fountain ; 
Under  the  cool  of  the  hawthorn  spray, 
Sunlight  and  shadowlet  dance  and  play; 

Love,  love's  on  the  wing — 

Sing,  Pretty  One,  sing! 

Rest,  Pretty  One,  rest ! 
The  sun  sinks  under  the  mountain; 
Mother-bird  night,  with  her  warm  wings  furled, 
Broods  o'er  the  dusk  of  the  sleeping  world; 

Safe  under  her  breast 

Rest,  Pretty  One,  rest ! 


95] 


AN  OLD  SONG 

When  all  the  winds  are  mellow  in  the  glad  Spring 
time, 

And  bank  and  fell  and  fallow  blossom-laden, 
When  every  breath's  a  song,  and  every  laugh  like 

rhyme — 

Sing  hey,  the  day  for  youth  to  meet  a  maiden ! 
Then  out  amid  the  morning, 
Let  Wisdom  waste  her  warning — 
We'll   laugh,    Dear    Heart,    and    sing,    Dear    Heart, 
through  all  the  golden  day! 
Red  lips  are  such  a  treasure 
As  only  love  can  measure, 
When  all  the  world  is  merry  in  the  month  of  May ! 

When  all  the  dark  is  hollow,  and  the  wind  blows 

cold, 

And  down  the  West  the  tawny  sun  is  sinking; 
When  every  word  is  wise,  and  every  heart  grows 

old,— 

Sing  ho,  the  night's  a  noble  time  for  drinking ! 
Then  drown  the  wizard  Sorrow ! 
To-night  from  death  we  borrow — 
We'll  laugh,  good  friends,  and  quaff,  good  friends, 
until  the  dawn  of  day ! 

Let  song  and  wine  remind  us 
Of  loves  we  left  behind  us, 
When  all  the  world  was  merry  in  the  month  of  May ! 

[96] 


SONG 

The  skies  are  dimly  bright,  Love, 
The  stars  like  pulses  beat 

That  falter  with  delight,  Love, 

And  the  breeze  is  maddening-sweet- 
The  breeze  is  maddening-sweet ! 

Borne  soft  along  its  way, 
The  sighs  of  sleepy  flowers 
From  bowers  to  dusky  bowers 

Its  laden  wings  delay. 

The  world  is  hushed  in  shade,  Love, 

And  shadowed  all  my  heart; 
This  night  for  us  was  made,  Love,  .  . 

And  we  so  far  apart — 

And  we  so  far  apart! 
Unheeded  on  my  ear 

The  folded  whispers  fall — 

In  vain  the  shadows  call, 
Because  thou  art  not  here. 


97] 


SONG 

I  know  a  bower  sweet  and  shy, 

Where  glooms  a  stream 
Beneath  cool  films  of  leaf  and  sky 

Where  river-lilies  lie  and  dream; 
Where  very  quietly 
Small  birds  make  melody, 
And  every  breeze  on  tiptoe  comes  and  goes- 
To  that  dim  bower  that  no  one  knows — 
My  bower  of  peace  that  no  one  knows ! 

I  know  a  heart  unwisely  dear, 

Where  blooms  a  joy 
That  never  doubt  may  venture  near, 
Nor  any  barren  fear  destroy; 
That  poureth  over  me 
Child-sweetness  wondrously, 
And  dareth  wholly  unto  me  disclose 
That  gentle  heart  that  no  one  knows — 
Dear  heart  of  peace  that  no  one  knows ! 


[98] 


TOGETHER 

Glory  of  a  golden  light  over  vale  and  hill, 
Daisy-fields  a-bending  to  the  swift  wind's  will, 

Summer-sweet   in   every   breath,   a   bird   on   every 
spray, — 

And  it's  you  and  I  together,  Dear,  the  livelong  day ! 

Wonder  of  a  misty  moon  high  above  the  wood, 
Glamour  in  the  valley  and  our  own  hearts'  blood, 
All    the    breathing    dark    alive    with    murmurs    of 

delight, — 

And  it's  you  and  I  together,  Sweet,  the  livelong 
night ! 

Win  a  world  or  lose  a  world — peace  or  weary  strain, — 
Summer  dawn  of  joy,  or  Winter  dusk  of  pain — 
Every  time  I  think  of  you,  it's  like  a  lilt  of  song, 
For  it's  you  and  I  together,  Love,  a  whole  life  long ! 


[99] 


ROSA  MUNDI 

In  a  garden  glad  and  green 
Blooms  a  rose  unknown,  unseen, 
Ruby-bosomed  like  a  flame, 
Holy,  like  a  holy  name — 
All  the  world  have  part  and  right 
In  the  garden's  rich  delight: 
Each  may  gather  all  he  knows  .  .  . 
I  alone  have  known  the  Rose. 

Through  a  world  of  waste  and  wrong 
Floats  a  benison  of  song, 
Pouring  on  the  multitude 
All  their  souls  can  bear  of  good ; 
Giving  them  who  know  and  care 
Beauty,  laughter,  pain,  and  prayer — 
Each  his  own  realities   .  .   . 
Mine  the  Singer's  lips  and  eyes. 


{100} 


THE  MOON-PATH 

Fair  and  afar  and  aflame  in  the  sky, 

Over  the  tide, 

Glimmers  the  great  moon  calm  and  high— 
The  golden  sign  of  my  heart's  desire — 
Never  the  nearer,  though  I  stand 
Without  faith  on  the  lip  of  the  land, 
Or  follow,  follow  her  endlessly 
Over  the  heaving  gloom  of  the  sea — 
Over  the  weary  sea — 
Over  the  sea. 

Cold  and  aloof  and  alone  in  the  sky 

Let  her  bide, 

Pouring  her  beauty  down  from  on  high — 
A  river  of  rest  for  the  heart's  desire — 
A  golden  pathway  flowing  to  meet 
The  lone  quest  of  my  faltering  feet, 
And  carry,  carry  me  endlessly 
Over  the  dream-dark,  wonderful  sea — 
Over  the  foam-bright  sea — 
Over  the  sea. 


101 } 


OFFERINGS 

If  I  could  sing  as  no  man  ever  sang — 
Find  the  red  heart  of  that  unspoken  lore 
That  all  sweet  sound  is  only  hunger  for, — 

If  I  might  call  the  moonlight  on  the  sea, 
The  river-lily's  dream,  the  soul  of  dew, 

To  lead  the  voices  of  my  harmony, 

I  should  have  songs,  O  Love,  to  sing  to  you. 

If  I  could  love  as  no  man  ever  loved — 
The  seeking  of  the  girl  unsatisfied, 
The  passion  of  the  bridegroom  for  the  bride, 

The  mother's  wonder  in  her  newborn  son, 

The  boy's  fresh  rapture  in  his  life  come  true- 

If  I  might  compass  all  these  loves  in  one, 
I  should  have  love,  O  Love,  to  bring  to  you. 


[102 


SONG 

Only  a  little  while  since  first  we  met, 

And  soon  the  sea,  with  many  a  weary  mile, 
Shall  sever  us  forever,  Sweet  .  .  .  and  yet, 
Will  it  be  very  easy  to  forget  ? — 
Only  a  little  while! 

Only  a  little  while  that  I  may  claim 

The  whole  soul's  breath  of  you  without  denial, 
And  see  your  eyes  grow  golden  with  a  flame 
That  is  not  Love,  yet  hath  no  other  name — 
Only  a  little  while ! 

Only  a  little  while  to  use  my  art 

So  that  some  day  you  may  look  back,  and  smile 
Out  of  a  joy  wherein  I  have  no  part 
On  that  old  self  of  yours  that  filled  my  heart 
Only  a  little  while! 


[108} 


SONG 

The  clouds  are  drifting  drowsily, 

The  sea  drinks  in  the  sun, 
And  it's  O  for  the  dawn  that  is  dead  and  gone, 

And  the  deeds  I  might  have  done — 

Brave  deeds  I  might  have  done ! 

The  waning  moon  is  red  and  low, 

The  slow  wind  brings  the  rain, 
And  it's  O  for  the  night  of  dear  delight 

That  shall  not  be  again — 

That  cannot  be  again ! 

The  crawling  mists  are  cold  and  white, 

The  lights  are  blank  and  gray, 
And  it's  O  for  command  of  heart  and  hand 

To  do  my  work  to-day — 

Only  my  work  to-day! 


[104] 


ABSENCES 

Dawn-light  and  bird-song  and  trees  against  the  blue — 
All  the  lights  of  heaven,  Dear,  are  fair  because  of 

you!  .  .  . 
But  now  the  fields  are  sallow,  and  all  the  skies  are 

gray; 
Empty  of  the  sight  of  you  to  light  love's  way. 

Hearth-light  and  home-song,  and  voices  by  the  fire, 
Merry  with  your  mirth,  Dear,  and  warm  with  your 

desire.  .  .  . 
But  now  the  house  is  hollow,  and  all  the  fires  are 

chill; 
Barren  of  the  joy  of  you  to  wake  love's  will. 

Come  to  me,  bring  back  to  me  the  heart  of  day  and 

night, 

The  body  of  all  beauty,  and  the  soul  of  all  delight ! — 
Sunbeam  and  star-shine,  roses  after  rain, 
The  colour  and  the  melody,  the  laughter  and  the 

pain, 
And  all  my  life  alive  in  me  to  hold  you  close  again ! 


[105] 


MORVEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 


MORVEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 


ANGELS  OF  THE  GRAIL 

Morven!  .  .  Morven!  .  .  Morven!  .  . 
Blood  and  Water, 

Water  and  Wine, 
World  without  end:  three  signs,  one  wonder — 

Follow  the  Vision, — 
Follow  the  Grail! 

MORVEN 

Blood  of  the  sunset 

Adown  the  dark  water, 
Wine  of  the  wind,  sweeping 

Onward,  Westward, 
Herding  the  numberless 
Rush  of  foam-flinging 

Surges  homeward 
Whither  we  follow 
Over  the  golden 

Floors  of  sundown: 
One  way  together 

Westward  wending — 
The  sweep  of  the  wind, 
The  weight  of  the  wave, 
The  leap  of  the  sail, 

And  the  swing  of  the  oar. 


Morven, 
seafaring 
upon  the 
quest  of 
the  Grail, 
heareth  the 
Angels 
thereof 
calling 
unto  him; 


and  will 
follow  the 
world's 
dream,  even 
unto  the  end 
of  the  world. 


[109] 


POEMS 

One  way,,  the  sun's  way, 

Onward,  Westward, 
From  dawn  to  noonday 
From  noon  to  even, 

From  darkness  to  darkness ; 
One  way,  the  soul's  way, 

Out  of  the  darkness 
For  one  day  only, 
Westward,  onward, 
Alone  down  the  gloaming, 

Into  the  darkness. 


One  dream,  the  world's  dream 

Alone  we  follow, 
O  my  wanderers, 
My  strong  companions, — 

Follow  the  holy 
Angel-guarded 

Vision,  the  golden 

Grail,  that  shineth 

Eternal,  Immortal; 
Onward,  Westward, 

Heavenward,  homeward, 

Follow  the  Vision — 
Follow  the  Grail! 


110} 


MORFEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 


CHORUS:  IN  AVALON 

Hither,  O  hither  and  rest !    On  the  broad  sea's  billowy 

bosom, 
Avalon,  bride  of  the  West,  smiles  in  the  arms  of   Hecomethto 

the  island 

the  loam ;  Avaion,  the 

Balm   of   warm   noon,   drowsy  bird,   and   awakening   heaven  of 

3    pleasure; 
blossom,  and  there  for 

Charm  the  tremulous   air,  welcome  the  wanderer   abidethin 

home.  bliss- 

Here,   over   meadows   of   endless   May,   the   drifting 

clouds  of  a  downy  whiteness 
Gleam,  and  the  sunbeam  follows  the  shadow  under 

the  bloom  of  purple  skies; 

Here  the  wild  moon  crowns  the  mountains,  drowning 
the  gloom  in  a  bath  of  brightness 
Perfumed  with  paradise. 


We   have   forgotten  your   tears.      Will   ye   feed   im 
possible  yearning 
With  young  years,   and  fight  hungrily,  proud  of 

your  pain? 
Come   unto   us,   and   discover   the   old   sweet   beauty 

returning 
Beauty,  desire  to  delight,  lover  to  lover  again ! 


POEMS 

Knights  grown  weary  of  hopeless  honour,  ladies  fain 

of  ungathered  flowers, 
Saints  unkissed,  and  sages  dry  of  wine,  and  singers 

barren  of  song — 

Learn  the  joy  ye  long  for,  join  the  dance  of  the  rosy- 
footed  hours, 

Laughing  our  days  along. 


But  hearing 
in  his  heart 
as  it  were 
the  voice  of 
young 
Sigurd 
riding  forth 
against  the 
Dragon,  he  is 
aware  how 
man  may 
not  content 
him  forever 
in  sweet  joy; 


SONG  OF  SIGURD  THE  VOLSUNG 

The  gold  of  the  morning 

Shines  on  my  shield, 
Her  jewels  adorning 

The  sword  that  I  wield; 
Clear  of  light  and  clean  of  breath — 
Here's  a  day  for  life  or  death ! 
For  war  without  warning 
By  forest  and  field. 

For  maidenhood  sleeping 

By  fire  girded  round, 
For  wealth  of  the  creeping 

Worm  underground; 

Thank  the  gods,  who  gave  the  same 

To  the  dragon  and  the  flame, 

That  gaining  and  keeping 

A  man  may  be  found ! 

[119] 


MORFEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 

Then  smite  hard  and  spare  not, 

Foeman  unknown! 
I  fear  not,  I  care  not, 

Mine  arm  is  mine  own. 
God  nor  man  that  hears  my  horn, 
Troll  nor  monster  mountain-born,  — 

Shall  dare  what  I  dare  not, 
Till  one  be  o'erthrown! 

MORVEN 

Let  me  go  hence!  .  . 

I  have  hungered  and  thirsted 

Overlong  in  your  Avalon. 
Here  is  no  heaven  — 

The  Grail  is  not  here  ! 

CHORUS 

Is  there  another  j  oy  than  j  oy  ?    O  lover  of  sorrow,         and  of  the 
Surely  our  lips  and  eyes  answer  thine  own,  and  are   ew^  ^  ' 

Sweet  !  desire  of  the 

soul  that  is 


Wherefore, 

Lo,  in  my  heart  despite  them 

Heard  I  one  singing  seeking  to 

stay  him,  he 

Of  youth  war-hardy,  departeth 

Pure  of  pleasure,  out  of  that 

heaven. 

Glad  against  fear. 
[113] 


POEMS 

CHORUS 

Out  of  the  arms   of  to-day  let  not  the  wanton  to 
morrow 

Lure  thee  away  with  lies.     Fool,  in  what  land  shall 
ye  meet? 

MORVEN 

And  I  said,  beholding 

Beauty  that  breedeth 

Barren  roses, 
And  love  unfought  for, 
A  flower  without  fruit — 

How  shall  I  make  me 
An  end  of  manhood 

To  lie  unavailing, 

Unwarlike,  unworthy, 
Steeped  in  sweet? 

CHORUS 

No  more.     There  is  no  home  but  here,  nor  ever  was, 

nor  shall  be  forever. 
Over    our    stars    forbidden    heavens,    under    our 

flowers  forgotten  hells 

Warn  in  vain;  before  and  beyond,  the  wind's  unrest 
and  the  sea's  endeavour 

Dream,  and  shall  find  naught  else. 


MORVEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 

MORVEN 

I  will  go  in  might 

As  a  mart,  wayfaring 
Whither  the  brave  blood 

Poured  for  sword-swing 
Riseth  again 

As  the  rain  returning 

Sunward,  and  turneth 
To  wine  poured  forth 

Before  heroes  in  heaven. 
Thither  will  I  too 

Fare  and  follow 

Beyond  the  world's  end, 

Over  the  rainbow, 
Onward,  upward, 
Heavenward,  homeward, 

Follow  the  Vision — 
Follow  the  Grail ! 

CHORUS:  IN  VALHALLA 

To  Valhall,  O  Stranger, 
Drink  deep,  and  be  cheered 

For  days  of  thy  danger 
And  ways  of  thy  weird, 

Ere  the  war-maidens  bore  us 
The  heroes  high-vaunting, 


Then  cometh 
he  to 

Valhalla  of 
the  Old  Gods, 
the  heaven 
of  stark 
manhood; 
and  there 
abideth  in 
glory  for  a 
time. 


POEMS 

Stout  sons  of  the  sword — 
With  the  great  ones  before  us 
To  ride  to  the  hunting, 
And  feast  at  the  board. 

By  the  field,  by  the  foam, 
Where  our  hearts  were  not  wanting, 
Where  our  force  did  not  fail — 
We  have  won  our  reward, 

We  are  crowned;  we  are  come, 
To  Valhalla  our  home. 
Waes  Hael! 

To  our  brothers  who  fought  us, 

Good  welcome  again! 
Your  manhood  first  taught  us 

We  also  were  men. 
By  our  wars  without  hate, 

By  our  wounds  without  shame, 
By  our  death  without  fear — 
Hand  in  hand,  mate  by  mate, 

Pledge  our  fellowship  here. 
For  the  love  of  the  game, 

The  strong  arm  that  defends 

Till  a  stronger  prevail, 
The  high  deeds,  the  hard  ends, — 
To  our  foemen,  our  friends, 
Waes  Hael! 


[116 


MORVEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 

To  our  grim  gods,  who  drained  us 

Of  sorrow  and  joy; 
Disowned  us,  disdained  us, 
Till  all  that  remained  us 
Ye  could  not  destroy: 
By  the  hammer  of  doom, 
By  the  flame  of  desire, 
By  the  flood  of  despair — 

Ye  have  forged  us  a  pride 
Either  side  of  the  tomb, 

Undismayed  here  as  there. 
For  the  gloom  and  the  fire, 
For  our  woe,  for  our  worth 
Before  heaven  and  earth, 

Pour  once  more  the  brown  ale ! — 
To  the  gods  we  defied, 
Face  to  face,  open-eyed, 
Waes  Hael!' 

HYMN  OF  SAINT  CECILIA 

Let  my  sorrow,  Lord, 

Seek  thy  breast; 
Never,  but  for  thee, 

Faint  or  fear — 
Till  I  find  my  rest, 

My  reward, 
Folded  in  thy  dear 

Purity. 

[117] 


But  hearing 
in  his  soul  as 
it  were  the 
voice  of 
Saint  Cecilia 
hymning 
Christ  her 
Lord,  he  is 
aware  how 
man  may  not 
content  him 
forever  in 
triumph; 


POEMS 

Never  let  me  weep 

Any  more — 
Only  lay  my  soul 

In  thy  hand; 
Only  as  before 

Fall  asleep, 
Making  thy  command 

My  control. 

Close  the  world  away 

From  my  sight; 
Let  the  legions  move, — 

Lovers  cling, — 
Hidden  in  the  night ; 

While  the  day 
Owns  but  thee,  one  King 

And  one  Love. 


MORVEN 

Let  me  go  hence!  .  . 
Lo,  in  my  soul 

Have  I  heard  one  singing 
Of  faith  white-hearted, 
Holy  in  sorrow, 

Lowly  in  prayer. 


[118] 


MORFEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 


And  I  said,  remembering 

Pride  that  drinketh 
Bitter  water 

And  power  unbridled, 

A  fire  without  food — 
How  shall  I  make  me 

An  end  of  wonder 
To  vaunt  in  Valhalla 
Unhumbled,  unhallowed — 

The  Grail  is  not  there ! 


and  the 
Grail  also, 
even  the 
desire  of  the 
soul  that  is 
not  in 
Valhalla. 
Wherefore 
he  departeth 
out  of  that 
heaven. 


I  will  go  in  my  sins 

As  a  pilgrim,  seeking 
Whither  the  tears 

Of  the  world,  forever 
Calm  with  forgiveness, 
Flow  like  a  shining 
River  of  peace 

Before  Christ  in  heaven ; 
And  beneath  Him,  around  Him, 
Glad  golden  angels, 
Grave-eyed  like  children, 
Cast  their  crowns  down 
By  the  fountain,  crying: 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy. 


[119} 


POEMS 

Thither  will  I  too 
Fare  and  follow 
Through  the  silence — 

Beyond  the  shadow — 
Onward,  upward, 

Heavenward,  homeward, 

Follow  the  Vision — 

Follow  the  Grail ! 


CHORUS:  IN  PARADISE 

Golden  with  hearts  of  gold  thine  everlasting  city — 
Rainbow-bright    with    jewels,    and    every    gem 
soul — 

Hosanna !    The  Lord  above 
Reigneth  as  a  lord  of  love — 
Hosanna !  the  Lord  of  might  that  is  Lord  of  pity 
Buildeth  of  broken  things  the  glory  and  the  goal ! 


Then  cometh 
fie  among  the 

Saints  in         \\re  have  sinned  and  turned  away  our  faces 

Paradise, 

the  heaven  of       From  the  light  we  could  not  call  our  own  ; 
Father,  thou  hast  sought  in  lonely  places 


abidethhis       For  thy  children,  gathered  us  and  crowned  us 
Peace.  With  the  peace  that  blooms  about  thy  throne. 


MORFEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 

We  have  sorrowed  where  our  fears  confound  us 

And  the  clouds  return  after  the  rain; 
Saviour,  for  thy  death  we  feel  around  us 
Arms  departed,  hear  forgotten  voices, 
And  the  eyes  we  saw  weep,  smile  again. 

We  have  dreamed:  by  fitful  flames,  and  noises 

Of  the  night,  we  fought  and  labored  long; 
Spirit,  in  thy  mystery  rejoices 
The  lost  heart  of  dreams,  the  purer  glory 
Shining  at  the  end  of  every  story — 
Calling  at  the  close  of  every  song. 


Therefore  with  angels,  with  Cherubim  and  Seraphim, 
With  all  who  shall  follow  and  all  who  went  before, 
Hosanna  !    The  King  of  Kings 
Hath  compassed  His  imaginings ! 
Hosanna!     We  praise  Him  and  magnify  His  name; 

to  Him 

The  Kingdom  and  the  power  and  the  glory  ever 
more! 


But  hearing 
in  his  spirit 
as  it  were 
Our  Lady 
communing 
with  her 
Child  new 
born  into  the 
world,  he  is 
aware  how 
man  may  not 
content  him 
forever  at 
rest; 


POEMS 

LULLABY  OF  OUR  LADY 

I  have  dreamed  of  strange  things 
This  night.     Lo,  they  are  gone- 
The  voices,  and  great  wings, 
And  the  three  kneeling  kings — 
Leaving  me  here  alone 

Now  all  is  done 
With  this  that  is  mine  own.  .  . 
The  Man,  my  Son. 

Master,  thy  high  commands!  .  . 

Must  we  put  forth  to  bless 
Unfathomed  seas,  far  lands, 
These  little  angry  hands? — 
Will  earthquake  and  eclipse 

Claim,  and  confess 
Those  little  hungry  lips 
Of  helplessness? 

Ah,  hush,  then !  .  .  Take  no  heed 
Of  prophecy  nor  sign, 
While  I  am  all  thy  need 
Though  thou  be  God  indeed. 
What  matter  less  or  more, 

Human,  divine? — 

Never  was  born  before 

A  babe  like  mine. 


MORFEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 

MORVEN 

Let  me  go  hence !  .  . 

Prayer  and  praise 

Have  I  proven  in  Paradise ; 

The  Grail  only 

Beheld  I  never 
In  any  heaven. 

For  lo,  even  now, 
Even  here,  my  spirit 
Heard  one  singing 
Of  life  new-born 
Unto  hope  and  hunger 

Adventure,  endeavour; 
And  I  said,  understanding 
The  eyes  of  children, 
The  lips  of  women, 
The  hands  of  men — 
I  will  go  down 

Out  of  rest  forever 
For  love  of  the  world 

To  the  world  again. 

I  will  go  as  a  babe 

That  is  born,  as  a  soul  sent 
Forth  from  before  God 
Bathed  in  forgetfulness 


and  of  the 
Grail  also, 
even  the 
desire  of  the 
soul  that  is 
not  in 
Paradise, 
neither  to  be 
found  in  any 
place,  but 
rather 
followed 
through  all. 
Wherefore 
he  will 
depart  out 
of  that 
heaven,  to  be 
born  again 
and  become 
as  a  little 
child. 


[123] 


POEMS 

To  wonder  and  wander 
Through  pain  and  beauty, 
Laughter  and  labour 

And  shame,  unendingly, 
Knowing  and  growing. 

One  way,  the  world's  way, 

The  sun's  way,  the  soul's  way- 
Day  after  day 

From  the  deep  rearisen, 
The  same,  yet  another, 

Westward  wending 
From  dawn  to  noon 

From  noon  to  even 
From  even  to  dawn. 
One  dream,  God's  dream 

That  no  man  knoweth 

Never  to  find 

Forever  to  follow — 
The  unbeholden 

Glory,  the  gleam 

Above  all  heavens 

Beyond  all  horizons — 
Earthward,  downward 

Outward,  onward, 
Follow  the  wonder — 

Follow  the  Grail ! 


MORVEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 

ANGELS  OF  THE  GRAIL 

Morven!  .  .  Morven!  .  .  Morven!  .  . 
Blood  and  water 

Water  and  "wine 
Life,  death,  and  life,  three  dreams,  one  waking — 

Behold  the  vision — 
Behold  the  Grail! 


From  His  throne  alone  and  afar 

In  the  night  before  light  began, 
The  Lord  let  fall  a  star 

Into  the  heart  of  the  sea. 
And  a  ripple  arose  and  ran 

Spreading  eternally 
In  glimmering  rings  that  roll 

Over  the  dark  of  the  sea, 
As  the  ripple  of  years  that  flow 
Over  the  dark  of  the  soul — 

Circles  of  weal  and  woe 
Widening  evermore, 

With  hell  in  the  gulf  below 
And  heaven  where  shadows  move 

To  the  shore  that  is  no  shore. 
And  in  the  light  thereof 

Are  all  things  written  plain ; 
For  the  name  of  the  sea  was  Love 

And  the  name  of  the  star  was  Pain. 


Thereupon 
the  heavens 
are  opened 
unto  him, 
and  he 
beholdeth  in 
a  vision  the 
Grail  and 
the  Angels 
thereof  sing 
ing  of  the 
mystery  of 
God's  crea 
tion:  how 
man  shall 
not  cease  but 
through  light 
and  dark 
ness,  love 
and  pain, 
death  and 
birth,  live  on 
between  Hell 
and  Heaven 
in  wonder 
everlasting. 


POEMS 

And  the  Lord  lifted  up 

Gold  of  the  star  that  fell, 
And  fashioned  a  golden  cup 

Thereof,  and  blent  therein 
Wine  that  was  poured  in  hell 

To  waken  the  heart  of  sin; 
Water  from  streams  that  rise 

Where  weary  angels  win 
Heaven,,  and  fall  asleep; 

And  blood  of  sacrifice 
Burned  for  old  gods  that  weep 

Forgotten.    And  the  Lord 
Blessed  the  cup,  and  drank  deep 

And  set  it  for  a  sign 
In  the  West,  and  spoke  a  word, 

Saying:     "  This  blood  is  mine: 
Let  him  who  hungereth 

Drink."    And  he  called  the  wine 
Life,  and  the  water  Death. 

And  over  the  face  of  the  world 

Fly,  as  the  shadow  flies 
Where  a  pillar  of  smoke  is  whirled 

Away  on  the  wind,  the  desire 
Of  Man,  and  the  joy  of  his  eyes: 
A  pillar  of  cloud,  and  a  fire 
Burning  beneath,  and  above 

Veils  that  resolve  and  retire 


MORFEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 

Into  the  light,  and  are  gone: 

And  under  the  shadow  thereof, 
Hope  awake  in  the  dawn 

And  Faith  as  a  bird  that  sings 
In  the  dark,  and  Love  withdrawn, — 

Follow,  and  shall  not  fly 
Beyond  the  beginning  of  wings. 

Man  shall  environ  the  sky 
And  the  sea  in  the  mist  of  his  breath ; 

In  the  dust  of  his  deeds  he  shall  lie 
Down,  and  deny  his  worth, 

Falling  from  death  to  death — 
Rising  from  birth  to  birth 

Where  the  wind  of  his  dream  is  driven- 
In  Hell  as  it  is  on  earth, 

On  earth  as  it  is  in  Heaven. 


CHORUS:  ON  EARTH 

Children  of  men,  march  on 
Beyond  the  veil,  nor  fear 
An  end  of  any  beauty  now  begun; 
Seeing  how  all  that  longs  from  nothingness 

Into  desire  proclaims 
No  heaven  but  to  be  more,  no  hell  but  to  be  less 

Than  ye  have  held  most  dear. 
Therefore  dread  not  to  find  your  ancient  flames 


And  for  as- 
much  as  God 
of  His  own 
heart  so 
imagineth 
all  things 
that  they  die 
and  rise 
again,  there 
fore  shall  the 
earth  declare 
the  glory  of 
God,  world 
without  end. 


POEMS 

Faint  in  the  radiance  of  a  purer  sun ; 
Or  at  the  shrine  of  human  passion,  praise 
Unwelcome  gods,  unwillingly  adored 
By  strange,  cold,  holy  names. 
Ye  shall  not  find  them.     Many  are  my  ways; 
My  will  is  one, 
Saith  the  Lord. 

He  that  hath  eyes  to  see, 
Let  him  behold  the  tide's  eternity, 

Under  the  sway  of  the  moving  moon, 
Through  the  huge  pulse  of  ocean  swell  and  swoon, 

Changing  unchangingly ; 
He  that  hath  ears  to  hear, 
Hearken  the  birth-cry  of  the  dying  year, 
When  out  of  nakedness  and  frozen  stone 

Laughs  rearisen  spring, 
Glorified  in  sweet  green  and  sunlit  gold, 
With  breath  of  wild  virginity,  and  tune 

Of  marriage-merry  birds  that  sing 
The  coming  of  the  bridegroom  to  his  own 

Once  more,  even  as  of  old ; 
And  he  that  hath  a  heart  to  understand 

Feel  hour  by  hour  the  crown  of  his  reward 
Melt  from  his  brow  and  harden  in  his  hand 

Into  a  stronger  sword: — 
Nor  doubt  nor  dream  of  narrower  destinies 
Than  to  return  beneath  yet  undiscovered  skies, 
Risen  again  as  the  day  riseth  again, 

[188] 


MORFEN  AND  THE  GRAIL 

Reborn  as  the  year  is  reborn — 
Not  in  some  alien  heaven  prisoned  in  vain 

Where  that  which  hath  been  man  is  put  to  scorn; 
But  as  a  traveller  may  come 
With  old  love  and  new  eyes 
To  the  wonder  of  his  home. 

Children  of  earth,  dream  on 
Beyond  your  heaven,  and  dare 
Choose    your    own    gold    wherewith    ye    shall    be 

crowned; 
Seeing  He  also  dreams  whose  dream  ye  are, 

Nor  will  endure  to  bound 
That  vision  by  the  sweep  of  any  nearer  star 

Than  ye  have  found  most  fair. 
Therefore  from  faith  to  faith,  from  goal  to  goal 
Unfurl  the  sunward  pathway  of  the  soul — 

Ever  a  new  horizon  calling 
Over  the  crest  of  the  purple  hill, 

Ever  amid  the  music  falling 
A  melody  unremembered  still — 
Ever  to  grow,  to  gain 
Wilder  joy,  wiser  pain, 
Diviner  peace  to  conquer  and  defend 
By  more  than  mortal  strife: — 
Life — everlasting  life, 
World  without  end. 

Amen. 

[129] 


TURNS 

A  new  fixed  form:  Seven  lines,  in  any 
rhythm,  isometric  and  of  not  more  than  four 
feet;  Riming  AbacbcA,  the  first  line  and  the 
last  a  Refrain;  the  Idea  (as  the  name  sug 
gests^)  to  Turn  upon  the  recurrence  of  the 
Refrain  at  the  end  with  a  different  sense 
from  that  which  it  bears  at  the  beginning. 


PRELUDE 

Only  you  will  understand, 

And  at  last  I  can  be  true. 
Oh,  the  ache  of  self-command, 

Hoarded  laugh  and  hidden  tear! 
Listen  now  .  .  .  not  even  for  you 
Have  I  words  to  make  it  clear, 
Only — you  will  understand! 


WHEN  THE  WEARY  WINTER'S  GONE 

When  the  weary  Winter's  gone, 

And  the  birds  come  back  again, 
And  the  tenderness  of  dawn, 

And  the  hum  and  pulse  of  noon, 
And  the  laughter  in  the  rain, — 
Is  there  one  to  share  my  June 
When  the  weary  Winter's  gone? 


[188} 


MISERERE 

Ah,  God,  my  strength  again ! — 

Not  power  nor  joy,  but  these: 
The  waking  without  pain, 

The  ardour  for  the  task, 
And  in  the  evening,  peace. 

Is  it  so  much  to  ask? 
Ah,  God,  my  strength  again ! 


SEQUEL 

Love  came  back  to  look  once  more 

On  the  home  he  long  had  known: 
Found  a  vine  across  the  door, 

Found  the  fountain  foul  and  dry, 
Found  the  garden  overgrown; 

Heard  at  last  a  tired  sigh.  .   .  . 
Love  came  back  to  look  once  more. 


[134] 


"  NUNC  ET  LATENTIS  .  .  ." 

Gloom,  and  the  sound  of  your  breath; 
Longing  .  .  .  and  then  your  lips, 
And  a  heart  that  faltereth, 

And  the  soft  surge  of  your  breast — 
Then  a  slow  sigh  that  slips 

Into  a  sob.    Then  .  .  .  rest, 
Gloom — and  the  sound  of  your  breath. 


HOME-COMING 

Shrive  me  of  my  sins,  Dear  Heart: 
Give  me  of  the  Bread  and  Wine; 
Bid  the  waste  and  weight  depart, 

Bid  the  best  in  me  renew; 
By  the  love  that  makes  you  mine, — 

By  the  God  that  loves  in  you, 
Shrive  me  of  my  sins,  Dear  Heart ! 


135} 


CONGRATULATIONS 

How  can  he  know  your  worth  so  well 
As  I,  who  never  loved  you,  Sweet? 
His  love  shall  bind  you,  and  compel 
Your  heart,  his  only,  to  forget 
Whose  word  first  taught  that  heart  to  beat. 

He  is  the  worthier  man  .  .  .  and  yet, 
How  can  he  know  your  worth  so  well? 


WEARINESS 

Weariness ; 

Neither  pain 
Nor  distress, 

Nor  a  sleep 
Sought  in  vain — 

Only  deep 
Weariness. 


[1S6] 


REVERIE 

I  am  very  old  to-night, 

And  my  light  is  burning  low. 
There  is  neither  dark  nor  bright 

In  my  seeing;  but  I  see 
Only  ghosts  of  long  ago 

Gazing  on  me  quietly.   .  .   . 
I  am  very  old  to-night. 


A  CHARACTER 

The  heart  of  life  is  hid  from  him: 

He  has  no  ear  for  overtones, 
No  eye  for  blended  hues  or  dim. 

Therefore  he  gives  a  name  to  each, 
Dockets  our  laughter  and  our  moans, 

And  hastens  forth  to  judge  and  teach- 
The  heart  of  life  is  hid  from  him. 


[187] 


UMBRA 

In  the  night,  the  heart 

Feels  the  breath  of  things; 
Gathers  sweet  or  smart 

Where  the  eyes  are  blind, 
Where  no  echo  clings. 

In  the  day,  the  mind — 
In  the  night,  the  heart ! 


IN  PASSING 

When  all  the  world  was  gray, 
And  all  the  airs  were  chill, 
And  Summer  worlds  away, 

And  senses  out  of  tune — 
You  touched  me  with  a  thrill 

Of  momentary  June, 
When  all  the  world  was  gray. 


[138 


RECALL 

Over  the  wintry  sea 

I  send  my  heart  to  you 
To  rouse  a  memory 

Of  hill-woods,  and  sweet  rain, 
And  the  old  songs  we  knew, 
And  bring  you  home  again 
Over  the  wintry  sea. 


[189} 


THE  MAKER  OF  IMAGES 


THE  MAKER  OF  IMAGES 

Sunbeam  and  storm-cloud  over  the  wonderful 
Sea,  whereupon  ships  labour  and  mariners 

Hope  and  despair,  while  safe  in  haven 
Weavers  of  dream  by  the  wayside  wander 

Whose  hands  know  not  the  oar,  nor  their  eyes  endure 
Insurgent  ocean.     Nevertheless,  they  live 
Not  vainly,  if  at  heart  their  dreams  be 
One  with  the  heart  of  the  world  forever. 


Long  since,  an  unknown  Maker  of  Images 

Walked  where  the  shore  looms  high  before  Pergamon 

Fronting  the  sea.    And  while  he  dreamed  there, 
Suddenly  over  the  bright  horizon 

Fell  darkness.    Birds  cried  out,  flying  heavily 
Down  the  wind.     Blue  gloom,  swallowing  sail  by  sail, 

Swung  landward.     The  tall  meadow-grasses 
Swayed  like  the  mane  of  a  beast  in  anger 

Arousing.  .   .   .  Then  one  glare,  and  a  thunderbolt 
Cracked,  and  the  world  went  out  into  colourless 

Ruin  of  rain,  and  sky  and  headland 
Blent  with  the  spray  of  the  plunging  ocean. 

[143] 


POEMS 

Meanwhile,  amazed,  the  Maker  of  Images 
Clung  to  the  cliff.     Then  rose ;  and  at  eventide, 

Through  dew-sweet  fields  and  rain-washed  wood 
land 
Wandered,  as  one  having  seen  a  vision, 

Homeward,  without  speech.     And  for  many  days 
Carved  on  the  new-raised  altar  of  Pergamon 
What  he  had  seen :  yet  not  the  unmeaning 
Welter  of  cloud  over  storm-torn  water, 

But  warfare  of  white  gods,  the  Olympians, 
Against  the  Earth-Born:  Zeus,  thunder-panoplied, 

Pallas,  and  Ares,  and  Poseidon 
Ranging  the  van  of  his  windy  legions, — 

While  underneath,  vain  Giants  in  agony 
Piled  mountains ;  and  alone,  understanding  all, 

Foam-bosomed  Aphrodite  smiled  down 
Quietly,  out  of  the  heights  above  them. 


Storms  pass.    Untold  suns,  glooms  beyond  numbering, 
Vanish.     The  unchanging  pageant  elaborates, 

And  kingdoms  fail,  and  strange  commanders 
Govern  imperial  generations 


THE  MAKER  OF  IMAGES 

Of  momentary  dust;  and  the  pyramid 
Follows  the  prince  where,  emulous,  tremulous, 

Like  motes  along  the  moonbeam  dancing 
Into  the  dark,  the  Enchanter  changes 

Men,  and  the  deeds  of  men.     Yet  through  centuries 
Gone,  since  before  that  altar,  adoringly 

With  arms  upraised,  the  Pergamaeans 
Gazed,  and  grew  stronger  of  heart  beholding, 

Their  dreams  remain.    Still,  still,  as  a  thousand  years 
Embody  June,  so  now  and  forevermore 

New  lamps,  new  eyes,  one  light  undying 
Hold,  and  reveal  in  a  thousand  rainbows. 

All  gods  of  all  times  fight  for  us,  laugh  with  us; 
Forgotten  angels  cool  our  delirium; 

Vague  monsters  from  primeval  caverns 
Widen  the  wondering  eyes  of  children; 

And  knights  of  old,  high-hearted  adventurers, 
Ride  errant  with  us,  making  a  tournament 
Of  toil;  and  new-hung  moons  remember 
Passion  and  pang  of  imagined  lovers 

Whose  perfumed  souls  in  blossomy  silences 
Hunger,  forlorn:     Adonis,  Endymion, 
Brynhild,  Elaine,  Ysolde,  Helen, — 
Names  like  the  touch  of  the  lips  that  loved  them, — 

[145] 


POEMS 

And  brazen-handed  heroes  who  sang  as  they 
Charged  home  against  impregnable  destiny 

Clang  trumpets  in  our  wars ;  and  saints  leave 
Lilies  of  peace  by  the  lonely  highway. 


Pray  therefore  that,  ourselves  being  treasurers 
Of  beauty  brought  from  Eden,  ephemeral 

Husbands  of  ageless  Dawn,  our  dreams  too 
Mould  for  a  moment  the  gold  immortal 

Not  fouled  by  unclean  hands,  nor  unworthily 
Shapen  for  gain;  nor  scorned,  while  idolaters 

Of  deities  unborn  unwisely 
Gather  barbarian  toys  of  tinsel 

To  flatter  purblind  eyes.     But  remembering 
The  beautiful  old  gods,  and  the  champions 

Of  storied  wars,  and  sylvan  horn-calls 
Waking  mysterious  elfin  laughter, — 

We,  in  our  own  hour  Makers  of  Images, 

Charm  storm  and  day-dream  into  such  harmony 

As  men  of  deeds,  beholding,  long  for, 
Forging  the  world  into  forms  of  heaven. 

New  York,  1914- 


[146} 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


305214 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


